


ALIENNAIRE

by aliennaire (Dianaliennaire)



Category: Alien (1979), Alien Series, Aliens (1986)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alien 3 never happened, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Canon divergence - past/present/future Alien series, Conspiracy, F/M, Gateway Station, Mysteries and explanations, New Blood, Science Fiction, Some theories on Alienverse, Space Jockeys, Sulaco, Teamwork, Violence against the underage, Weyland-Yutani, Xenomorphs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dianaliennaire/pseuds/aliennaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would the home-bound Sulaco crew's story be if they unhindered made it to the Earth-orbiting station? What will the once steadfast corporate warrant officer have chosen in the end, struck with the evil chance of battling her corporeal enemies and deep-seated fears again? Who was the elephantine creature, frozen and forgotten in the Derelict ship reportedly centuries ago?</p><p>This story takes place after Jim Cameron's 'Aliens' (1986) on the franchise's timeline and counts in the majority of Alienverse mythological attributes presented by the first two films.</p><p>  <i>There are some things you'd better not do, and other ones for you to stay unaware of.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. RETURN AND BAD FEELINGS

**Author's Note:**

> This story has initially been compiled in August 2011, before Prometheus. Now, after Covenant, It just feels right to complete editing and let this writing out. Wrapped up in October 2017. (I kept my final promise! :-)  
> Formatted in a kind of screenplay treatment prose, if that makes sense :-)

1.

Absolutely vacant of any motion or presence star-studded black outer space fills the perspective. The star pattern slightly changes as if indicating that we are moving through space.

HORIZON BUOYS, autonomous space light-capsules, grow visible against the background of the serene star field. The closest beacon is gleaming with a girdle of varicoloured scintillation. Suddenly an imaginary plane in front of it starts to pulse, distant stars shimmering distorted. An invisible, increasingly expanding circle deflects the sight of the star field behind, pulling every light into the horizon buoy's centre.

Abruptly, a nebular and globular surge expands out of the middle of the horizon buoy, devours the space in front of it and when it subsides, THE SULACO appears against the backdrop of the already peaceful star space. She drifts towards EARTH. 

GATEWAY STATION comes into sight with Earth in the background as well. Gateway station is the six BLOCKS/SECTORS formation, connected by long struts, and arranged in two rows. One of the two parallel assemblages, which is nearer to Earth, has two ANTENNAS adjacent to each of the respective side blocks. The left beacon is significantly bigger over the right one.

The Sulaco lowers correspondingly with the Gateway Station and docks into one of the PLATFORMS of military sector, block number 5, which is the middle block of the three, floating farther from Earth.

 

2.

Gateway station staff board the Sulaco. There are two to four co-workers from each – medical, military and technical personnel – department. The military espy only four functioning cryo-tubes with sleeping occupants in them and exchange glances, “First squad? What's the hell?” The arrived group is indistinctly chattering as the cryo-capsule canopy lids lift up.

RIPLEY wakes up the first, her eyes are rounded and full of horror, she is considerably frightened and unreasonably addled, looks around, tries to get on her feet right away, but droops down due to weakness. One of the medical staff props her up. Ripley then notices NEWT on her left and HICKS on the right, who are soundly and tranquilly sleeping, and calms down a bit, “Why didn't they wake up yet?”

“Quiet down, please, you haven't yet completely come out of the cryo-sleep agency”, warns one of the medical staff.

As BISHOP'S wrappings are torn out one of the technicians connects the android to his portable computer, “He's operative, however, his memory seems to be badly damaged. There is nothing in here we could retrieve.” The military com-tech accesses and procures data from the warship CPU.

One of the medical staff runs his scanner on top of the body of the sleeping girl, turns around to his colleague who peeps into the screen. “Carry them over to the hospital, and all the regular procedures shall be done...”

3.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

At Ripley's hospital room, a nurse extracts blood samples from her vein and finger, “Take a rest for a few minutes, then I'll take you to the scanner...”

Ripley interposes, “There were the girl and marine alongside me, how are they?”

“Both are fine,” the med-tech collects her instruments.

Ripley utters a sigh of relief.

The nurse goes on, “The soldier seems to have been anaesthetized, thus, slept in a little longer ”.

Ripley nods.

“And the child's still kept in stasis, the cryo-chamber mode was designated for an adult, but she's going to be OK.”

“Can I see her?” Ripley demands in earnest.

“Surely, as we're finished with the examinations.” The nurse arises, snatches her tray with blood samples, “Be right back.”

Ripley gives out another sigh of relief and smiles slightly. Whatever nightmares might have haunted her in unavoidably ceaseless and vividly sickening cryo-sleep, they made it back unharmed and in time.

All of a sudden her room door whooshes open and a formally dressed man, with the half-stand-up and half-turnover collar on his jacket, steps in, “Lieutenant Ripley? How are you doing?”

She wipes out the smile off her face, “Colonisation administration?” 

The man responds with the head nod, “My name is...”

But Ripley interrupts without any qualm or hesitation, “You'll get my report and all the papers you need from me. Nevertheless, I won't be teaming your wicked missions any more, and as soon as we're done I'm happy to part away and never see any type of you again. When is the debriefing listed?”

Nameless ECA representative loses his initial vigour, “The date is not set up yet, it's postponed because some other circumstances have occurred.”

Ripley frowns, “What circumstances?”

But the instructing rep denies disclosing anything due to the fact that he is not entitled to answer that kind of questions.

Ripley snorts at the implied mystery of discovering something that ECA have never seen once on any explored world out there. Of which she has been aware most likely even before any of the nowadays suits has been born.

4.

Ripley, dressed in a civil garment by this time, is fretfully awaiting outside HICKS' hospital room until the med staff finish examination.

Through the transparent door, it's visible that his head bandage is taken off. Sight tests are held, his left eye is unharmed, but there are scars across the cheek and eyebrow. New bandages are laid over his chest and shoulder and fixed by means of adhesive strips.

5.

While the med staff are leaving the room, Ripley flings herself inside and rushes her hands around his neck.

Hicks embraces her back, “Glad to see you again, Ellen.”

She nods and smiles through a hint of tears welling up, “We've made it.”

Hicks confesses, “Thanks to and good for you, you've done it.”

She spontaneously gives him a kiss on the cheek, inhales deeply and, as his scent hits her senses, the whole disposition strikes her stiffening and voiding of ease. The Marine is not a little girl and obviously doesn't need her coddling for reassurance and if he needs that –

Until any further embarrassing notion has the time to ooze in, she suddenly erases the smile from her face, withdraws and alters her voice tone to being detached and serious, “ECA holds off the hearing, they will run their own investigation.”

Hicks watches her change and nods his approval, “They've got all the score out of the Sulaco, so they hardly need us in the first round.”

The nurse comes into the room, “Oh, Ripley, here you are! The girl has awakened.”

6.

Ripley and Hicks proceed out of his hospital room into the corridor and follow the nurse.

“We still can't identify her, though,” informs the nurse. “LV-426 colony documentation has no entry of Rebecca Hudson, there has never been mentioned this surname at all, probably, she's...”

Some other med staff approach them from across the corridor.

Ripley, “That's right, because...” But Hicks grasps and squeezes her hand. Ripley trails off and turns her face to him.

One of the med staff ahead on the corridor refers to the nurse, “Jule, call at 428, there is.. again...”

Ripley and Hicks share a stare while their escort is distracted, he slightly shakes his head, “Wait, don't.”

The nurse utters to her colleague, “Okay.” Then she veers her attention back to Ripley and Hicks, “This way, come on.”

7.

Ripley smiles widely and takes a seat on the chair beside NEWT'S cot, “How are you, sweetheart?”

Hicks comes to halt next to her and squats down before Newt's cot.

Newt thumbs up, “Are we on Earth already?”

Ripley, “We are at the Gateway Station for a while, it's quite near to Earth.” She smiles once more, arches her eyebrow, “What would you say about becoming my real daughter? With all those papers and credentials...”

But Newt doesn't give her the time to finish, she sits up, stretches towards and hugs Ripley, “Yet out there, I wanted you to be my mummy,” then she gazes at Hicks over Ripley's shoulder. “And will you be my daddy?”

Ripley weakens her grasp and eyes Newt in surprise. Hicks grins and watches both. Finally, Ripley answers, emphasising the line no less for herself than for Newt, “Let's get to Earth and see how the things come to pass.”

A nurse comes in and relates the girl's condition as being feeble, Newt is told she has to undergo special treatment and should stay at the hospital at least for a week. Hicks is told he can return to his military sector at his own discretion with daily examinations in the med sector.

Newt is catered with books, toys, cartoons lest she feels alone and bored. Ripley and Hicks bid farewell to the girl till tomorrow and leave the room.

8.

At his hospital room, Hicks changes hospital clothing to his civil casual clothes. Constrained and concentrated on her own considerations, Ripley looks as if through him.

Hicks punctures the silence, “Look, I guess, we got something to talk over.”

Ripley gestures in approval, still absent-minded, “Yes, lots of...”

They are not any more in the churning havoc of Alien threat, and everyone is entitled to their own life decisions without bearing the pressure of acting upon the dire strait.

He passes her an electronic key, a personal plastic CARD for his home compartment at Gateway Station's Military block, “You can easily find me on this, feel free to pop in at any time.”

She feels the piece of plastic, “All right, see you a bit later today, someone's waiting for me at the Commercial sector.”

Hicks knits his eyebrows and nods. He knows nothing about her besides what he has seen. Ripley self-consciously walks out.

9.

Commercial/Cargo block, sector number 1.

Ripley fetches back her red tomcat JONESY from DARYL GIBSON, a man whom she worked side by side on power-lifting with. Ripley questions him how her pet has been.

Gibson is eager to learn when Ripley returns to work, but she vigorously enunciates she has retrieved her flight officer license, hence, she will hardly come back to docks.

Gibson assures her, “If you ever need anything, I'm here at your service.”

Ripley gratefully smiles, “Thanks, Daryl,” and takes her cat back.

10.

Ripley is at her cramped home compartment. There is seen an evident clutter that she had left before departing on the Sulaco – everything weighs down on her troubled mind and reminisces about nightmares, impelled isolation and despair.

Ripley attempts to tidy up her living quarters, but she drops the next thing which she just picked up to the same place where she took it from. Immersed into ruminations, she smokes, paces back and forth, then around the room, cuddles and strokes Jonesy in her arms.

She is absolutely certain what she wants to do about Newt, has got half-understanding as to how proceed with the 'suits' and her job arrangements, and is totally without a clue as to where she stands with another adult survivor of the last mission. Or where she may. Or where she wants to. If she wants, too.

At the long last, she calls Hicks, probingly “Can I come with a company?” Ripley shows him the cat on the videophone.

Hicks smiles, apparently relieved and enlivened, “Sure.”

11.

Military block, sector number 5.

At Hicks' home compartment, Ripley notices a photograph on the table in the central room. There are several people whom she hasn't seen before. Namely, a young woman, who is notably resembling Hudson and rigged out in a black tactical ballistic vest, she is in the centre of the picture with Hicks' and another man's (who is dressed into a T-shirt and khaki cargo pants) arms wrapped around her at both sides; with smirking Hudson above the three, waving his arms. Elsewhere aside on the photo, there is a red-head woman with a ponytail and an oriental-style wrap blouse over pants, she is sharing an embrace with Wierzbowski. Somewhere above, there are sitting a mulatto guy and a mestizo girl, both are wearing pilot uniforms. Apart from those new faces, Ripley is conversant with the rest of the crew: pilots Ferro and Spunkmeyer, Drake and Vasquez with smartguns, serjeant Apone, Frost (standing next to Hicks), blond Crowe and med-tech Dietrich.

Hicks explains to Ripley that it is the last shot of their unit at full strength. “Except for her,” he points out to the girl whom himself and the other man are embracing. “This is Irene Hudson, his sister.”

12.

Hicks is seated alone in the dinette to the right from the central room, with his laptop on the counter. He takes a glance at the unit's photo once in a while, smokes and pets the cat resting on his lap.

Someone's motion noises in the main room niche on the left. The startled and curious feline jumps down and trots over towards the sound source, Hicks follows the cat. Ripley is sitting on the in-built alcove bunk bed with her arms around her knees, staring at nothing specifically.

Hicks peers into her face, “Nightmares again?”

Ripley shakes her head, “No, not that. I just couldn't fall asleep, have some bad feeling. I don't know...”

Hicks leans in with his left hand up against the sideboard cabinet above the recess. “Hey, you just got to let a diversion. Tomorrow,” he looks briefly at the wristwatch and continues, “today we'll take Newt to the Tourist's and wander around a bit.”

Ripley nods and moves her face to eye him, “How is your report?”

Hicks frowns, looks around in the dinette direction, places his stare back on Ripley and ironically chuckles, “Let's put it this way, it's already got a title.”

Ripley sadly laughs for a moment, too, and shakes her head. She crawls forward nearing Hicks, pulls him down by the hand to have a seat next to her and wraps her hands around his neck.

Hicks lays the hand over her shoulders and shortly lets it down, “Try to have a sleep, there is still time until the morning.”

Ripley nods, “All right.” As their voices fade out the silence is almost hypnotising or telling, as in those moments when you know something eye-opening or irreversibly consequential is to happen.

Ripley slides her hands down from his neck to his chest. Hicks' intent stare meets her unwavering one. They watch each other silently for a long second, then she tugs at his t-shirt pulling it off and he rips it away in next to no time. Ripley lunges closer to kiss him, but Hicks draws her up pushing back into the alcove and dives in atop of her.

Her hands snake around his torso, skin on skin, and halt clawing onto his naked back. She may leave on him a host of scratches, as he can gift her with a couple of bruises. It's not even remotely gentle, but none of them seems to mind.

13.

Hicks is sleeping in his usual fashion: unperturbed tranquillity, come what may, the mouth partly open.

Ripley, lying beside and propping her head on her elbow, focuses on his face, reaches out and strokes the ends of his bristly hair, aware of not waking him up. She smiles, first hardly noticeable. Then mischievous grin touches her lips, and she squeezes her eyes shut reliving the echoes of the sensory onrush she felt not a long while ago. That he made her feel.

As the tingly feeling abates, Ripley loses the smile and swerves her gaze off him, contemplating the known past and possible future in her mind, and scrutinises Hicks once again. Then turning her head away she dips into her memories again and further. What brings her afloat, is an off notion that she, maybe, is curse-gifted with an uncanny ability to save the lives of the most personally involved people. And the cat. Ripley lets out a soft muted laugh.

Finally, she rolls over to rest with her back against his chest. Hicks moves in his sleep, stretches his arm to cuddle her up. She takes a deep sigh, closes her eyes and her face assumes a peaceful countenance.

14.

Two weeks have passed.

Tourist block, sector number 3.

At the gaming complex, Ripley and Newt are standing in front of a 3-metre--diameter ring with a 'Galaxy Combat' logo above it. There are several poles around the ring, swathed in fabric and metal-fibre mesh, along the perimeter. An operator's booth with equipment adjoins the arena.

Newt is attired in a simple blue dress with a bell skirt and broad white waistband, loose edges hanging down her side. Her hair is tied up except for a few tresses. Chunky amber beads, threaded on several strings, embellish her neck. There are three more children of her age or a little older in line alongside the operator, a man with virtual glasses on his forehead.

Over the background of a mundane visitors' chattering, Ripley pronounces in her interphone, “...put off again? And now, what day is assigned for the meeting?.. Well, we are waiting for you here, at the gaming complex on the third level... All right,” and she hangs up the phone.

Newt twiddles her waistband, Ripley smiles to her warmheartedly, “Do you like it?”

“Do they always dress like this on Earth?”

”The lady at the boutique asserts that, I don't know, though.” Ripley's countenance puts on a hue of staidness.

Newt chimes solicitously, “Will you marry Hicks right away when we come there?”

Ripley shrugs her shoulders, “We might soon...” and chuckles, “I see you like the idea.”

All at once the operator points out to an approaching teenager, “All right, the five are batched, let's get in!”

Children vividly proceed inside; some take plastic and rubber belts and wraps, fastened on the poles, and begin fixing them on their waists, arms and legs.

The newly appeared teenager spots Newt and refers to his entourage, “Heck! A little doll is in the arena, I'll better wait till the next go!”

Ripley turns her face on the annoying brat. Apparently one of those spoilt rotten kids from the wealthy families. Tours to the Gateway are still far from low-cost for the on-land denizens.

The operator gives back teenager's plastic token, notices another child approach at the brat's rear. “Are you in for this?” and stretches out the hand to pick up the ticket.

But the first adolescent hustles his way ahead of another kid and shoves back his plastic, “All right, you got me.”

Ripley rests her elbows upon the bannisters a metre away off arena's mesh and views Newt equip herself in the ring. The operator helps Newt to secure her elbow and wrist belts while her neck, armpit, waist, hip, knee and ankle straps are already fastened. Newt puts on her helmet, casually and easily. The gaming gear looks highly contrasting to her angelic blue dress.

The operator pulls on some virtual gloves himself, brings his glasses low to his eyes and instructs the five players, “Take a look at the panel now, does everyone see it well?.. take any gun to your liking...” The children swivel to the right and catch the air with their hands.

Ripley hears “Hey” behind her back, wheels about to say “Hi” and meets Hicks' admiring gaze, looking her down and up. She is draped in a long snug red dress with open back, traversed by a dozen horizontal chains, and the same kind of plunging neckline with the chains on the front; long sleeves slitted down from the shoulders.

Amused by the effect on him, Ripley shrugs, stealthily smiling. “We've had some time for shopping,” and invites with a head signal to look in the ring's direction.

Hicks reaches the railings, pauses next to her, they both bend over the bannisters. There are rollicking kids in the arena with their arms extended onwards.

Hicks chortles, “Princess rescuing galaxy?”

The medium-sized panoramic screen below the attraction's logo shows the picture of a darkened arena: cavern, five figures with guns in their arms, animated bad-guy humanoids.

Ripley says, “This one is her favourite.” And moves her head around to Hicks to steal his surreptitious look right that moment when he takes away his eyes off her shoulder. Ripley chuckles lightly with a challenge in her voice, “Look, I'm still the same woman you have been sleeping two weeks with.”

“Yeah, and absolutely doesn't mean...” Hicks finishes the response inaudibly, whispering into her ear.

She smiles, confused and elated, and ducks her head down. There are a lot of people around, other attractions are visible. The place couldn't get any more crowded for denying a bit of flirting.

Sign-off siren bellows and the screen above displays 'Game over' message. The operator strides onto the battleground, children take off the helmets and gloves, exchange their experiences loudly and steer themselves to the exit. Ripley and Hicks straighten up and head for the arena's outlet.

During the leaving, the familiar teenager addresses to Newt, “Gee whiz, little one! That was a blazing round!”

Newt restrainedly smiles to him, “You are welcome.”

Hicks chuckles to the teenager, “Were there any doubts, kid?”

Newt espies Hicks, “Hi”, clasps his arm, and they two walk away from the gaming field, chattering about where to course further to.

Ripley tags along right behind them, throws a look to the right where the acquainted teenager shares his impression loudly with his company. One of the latter shoots his arm in direction of Newt and dressed in military fatigues Hicks, “Sure, having a daddy like this...”

Ripley reverts her gaze onto the two preceding her.

15.

Yet another two weeks have passed.

Seen from the outside, the International Gateway Station gleams with a multitude of windows, heavy-duty spacecrafts and lightweight shuttles flying underneath.

Viewed through the window from the inside, the star field seems smaller, even tamed.

The Colonial block, sector number 4 has the same anatomy as its other siblings. Its veins bubble with life along the internal corridors and behind the sliding doors. People dash around, occupied with their duties. There are sector's elevation plans and, separately, its levels and storeys cross-section scale-drawings on the wall. The frame and bones of the sector.

A girl, togged out in a formal suit and carrying a folder with papers, enters one of the doors from the large hall. In the conference room, she transfers documents to an attendant, sitting at the table, brief “Thank-you” is given in response. She leaves, the doors whirs shut after her.

16.

The long-awaited debriefing committee meeting finally comes to pass. Several formally dressed civilians, a couple of the military and colonial personnel, Ripley and Hicks have their seats at the spacious desk with an opening in the middle.

One of the blue-collars concludes his account, “... and thereat it was testified that the twelve-second cycling beacon has recommenced its transmitting right away after the moment of the fusion reactor thermonuclear explosion on LV-426. ECA equal with the Corporate terraforming department commissioned a reconnaissance crew on board of the Almayer towards the denoted coordinates.” He picks up a remote control and adverts to the screen, “That hasn't detected anything of biological nature on the derelict spaceship, nor around it. Furthermore, by the time the Almayer arrived at LV-426, the signal has deadened at all.”

The wide video screen displays recordings, gathered by the Almayer's crew: totally vacant derelict ship, not a vestige of eggs, cocoons, nor alien creatures, even the pilot's chair is destitute of its skeleton. Ripley pores over the screen with her eyes wide open, turns to Hicks in misunderstanding.

He swaps his glance for hers, smokes with a cigarette in his left hand, cold-stony, and eyes the speaker, “Check the cam logs from the APC to bring yourselves to reason.”

Settled opposite him is another hearing participant, clad in military uniform, who continues, “Corporal, the majority of registered by the APC data about your so-called hive sweep is a trouble to transcribe at all, due to the poor quality of recordings. Though, your discussion of possibility to destroy the colony has been pretty well taken down.” He beckons to the first spokesman.

Hicks' camera log comes forth on the screen: first, there is Burke's face, APC cabin interior view, then Ripley's face with a smirk on it and Hicks' voice over: “I say, we take off and nuke the site from orbit... It's the only way to be sure.”

Hicks stubs out the cigarette. Ripley mops her face with the palm of her hand and then informs the military, “Check over the android's memory, god damn it! He was the one who calculated the time of the explosion.”

“For what we have said lately, android's memory was found totally blank, devoid of any information.”

Ripley flings herself upright and turns around with her face to the screen exposing Hicks' camera log, paused on the sequence showing her smirking face.

Hicks lights on the next cigarette and refers to the military, “When will be the rest of the first unit's four sent back to Station?”

“There is no necessity for their presence here.”

The chairman intrudes abruptly, “If the list of queries has been carried through then, considering what we have inferred during this inquest, investigation committee declares the decision in that...”

Ripley whirls around to face him.

The former goes on without a break, “...Commercial Star-fleet Lieutenant E. Ripley and USCM Corporal D. Hicks are temporarily divested of the licenses and ranks with ensuing prohibition to perform the corresponding professional activity. They are forbidden to leave the Gateway Station until the other directions are given. Also, your appeal on adopting and custodianship over the saved from colony LV-426 child, identified as Rebecca Hudson, is declined. This hearing is closed.”

Ripley is intent to blurt something out, but Hicks gets snappily to his feet, takes fast hold of her hand, “Let's go out of here.”

17.

Ripley and Hicks head out of the conference room and make haste down the passageway. She is furious, frets and fumes beside herself. “Bastards, self-conceit blind fuck-wits! These blockheads always have a way, even when you are sure of your trumps...” she exhales tensely.

Hicks strides at her elbow, but he is more reserved, “I'm going to ask my folks on Earth to bring in the request for Newt's ward till the moment we could take our way back there.”

Ripley breaks off her galloping and turns to him, “Take our way back? When? We are stuck here for four weeks already!”

“After they give us our due,” he comes to a stand-still next to her.

“They have already made their sleazy minds. Now, how are you going to compel them to come so magnanimous that to give us our due?” Ripley doesn't yield an inch back in her resolve.

“Can't tell like now, but I need the remaining men of my team.” Hicks looks stoic, “Yet, I need you. Hardly going to figure it out on my own.”

Ripley looks square in his eyes for a second, then whirls around and resumes her pacing down the corridor, Hicks follows her.

18.

Military block, sector number 5.

At Hicks' home compartment, Ripley seems to appear self-possessed already and pensive. She smokes, contemplating some invisible point above the alcove, and blinks when Hicks moves into the main room and places down a mug in front of her. She raises her eyes onto him.

Once more, Hicks attempts to reassure her, “We can make it.”

And while he takes a swallow of his coffee and lights a cigarette, Ripley utters as though talking to herself chiefly, “So, they are allegedly agreed to exchange Newt for obedience to their stipulations?”

Hicks sketches a wry grin on his face and lifts up a document from the table. “Yeah... keep op's information secretive, obligatory correctional rehab servitude during six weeks on Station and weekly shrink evaluations,” he paraphrases from the paper and watches Ripley.

She diverts her gaze away off him, “I don't want to be off track, but it seems to promise the only way to coming to Earth, together with Newt.”

Hicks opposes, “It ain't the only one, and, for sure, not the best.”

Ripley takes her draught of coffee and stares at him.

Hicks continues, “We can force them to initiate another investigation, it's feasible, with respect to the number of casualties like our case. Or else, as the last straw we could spill out everything known about the mission and the corpo men.”

Ripley chortles bitterly, “Look, it just feels like my story repeats itself in what happened after the breakout from the Nostromo. It's a vicious cycle, proofs and shreds of evidence disappear, and you are disqualified and your sanity is called into question. I've been there and I'm tired of all this, Dwayne.”

“It's to the point, but you are not alone this time and it's certainly not the insanity.”

“I just want to forget it and move on.”

“Didn't you think that empty derelict's sequence could be a flick directed personally for two viewers, that is for us, and right at this time the corporation is already breeding our well familiar pets somewhere?”

“Enough!” Ripley shouts out and covers her face. Of course, she thought about that, it is just the fate of one little girl turns the scales in her favour over the hypothetical destiny of all humankind. Ripley stands up after a beat, approaches Hicks and puts her arms on his shoulders, “Dwayne, I've got my game played out in this meaningless battle earlier. Probably, it will be simpler for me to carry on just alone...”

Hicks rises as well, lays his arms over hers, peers at her face, “You know, Ellen, it seemed to me a while back we could build something...”

As Ripley slides her arms off him and lowers her face he trails off, then jerks his head upwards and turns his back on her, propping hands against the sideboard cabinet above. With a crooked smile, Hicks snaps, “Yeah, I've always known sex is not a good enough reason to get acquainted.”

“Look, I'd never...”

He turns his head around to look at her over the shoulder and Ripley grows silent.

She squats on her heels, beckons the cat, latches on Jones with her both hands, moves around and heads to the door, taking a pause to whisper, “Thank you for everything, Dwayne.”

Hicks exhales, “Thank you, too, Ellen.”

Ripley quietly glides out, the door closes. Hicks roughly hits the wall with his fist and raises his face upwards.

19.

Commercial/Cargo block, sector number 1.

At her home compartment, Ripley makes a recurrent essay to put her belongings in order but suddenly heaves the first thing under her hand into the wall, spins into a rage, flings upside down and wrecks up everything around, slips down with her back against the wall and sobs.

20.

One more week has passed.

Commercial Sector, like other station blocks, is the number of tiers divided into processing zones on both ends and habitable levels in between them, the docks being below the living and work levels and storeys. There are working power-loaders, forklifts, lorries.

Ripley operates one of the vehicles. She has got a new hair-do: short-cut temples and both sides area, lengthened nape where her hair has grown out over the month, long mane and fringe over the forehead. She is poised and confident, performs her job emotionless.

21.

Gibson assists Ripley to get out of a transporting vehicle, stretches his hand out. She leans upon it and nimbly and habitually leaps down on the floor. They chatter to each other, Ripley informs him that the company is conciliated by her last week's behaviour, as well as with signed up non-disclosure agreement, and, perhaps, she will take her flight to Earth in a month and one week.

“Oh! Good news, it's a hefty reason for a party, isn't it? What is more, today is Friday!” He invites her to Tourist Block for a cup of coffee.

She smiles, tired and tepid, “Why not?”

“Wow! Did the fort really wave a white flag at last?”

Ripley laughs humorlessly. They are almost at the exit from the hall of the lower level, when her glance accidentally lands upon GRILLWORK FLOOR PLATES, familiarly molten in the midst. Her sardonic smile evaporates in a tick and the shivers numb her. Ripley halts stupefied in her tracks in front of the plates. Gibson pries into what happened.

She comes close to the gratings and probes the molten spaces with her fingers, “Where are they from?”

“The Montero, we've changed them recently, why?”

“I've got to make a call.” She ransacks her pockets, lastly finds the translucent plastic card on the second necklace chain and whispers mainly to herself, “I only hope I'm not going mad.”

Stunned Gibson watches her hurry away. Ripley inserts the card to the videophone, embedded into the wall, and impatiently observes her unanswered call for about a minute. At last, she twitches out the plastic and runs away. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am obviously a bull in a china shop when it comes to making collages. So, many thanks go to [Lexicona](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexicona) for taking her time and creating the art piece you are seeing above ;-) My previous slapdash placeholder, as well as the source images, rest in peace [here](https://www.dropbox.com/sh/8faa3wg0cwmy43f/AADCRt0PSHtYVhnLA1v9eF9ha?dl=0).  Yet, if you like this story and would care to give it a go with the 'trio' art I would dearly appreciate the contribution. Let's make more Riple&Newr&Hicks happy pics :-)


	2. EVIDENCE OF LIFE AND DEATH

22.

Military block, sector number 5.

In the lobby on the first level, Hicks composedly stands in front of the bank of personal service lockers for the colonial marines and self-confidently watches another, decked-out in air force uniform, military man.

The man stretches out a comp tablet towards Hicks and finishes enumeration, "...finally, blocking mechanisms of the hangar airlock."

"That ship is assigned to the third unit. Why don't you wait for their show-up? Sure they'd be just as over the moon to find out the upshot of your training," Hicks suggests cuttingly.

"Their return date is unknown, and we need the De Barral for manoeuvres by Wednesday. Is the task clear, Corporal?"

Hicks throws off coolly, "Affirmative, Sir," grabs the tablet and sharply turns away from the military to standing next to him, facing the lockers, dark-haired and lean man, CORRIGAN.

Corrigan goes through personal belongings in the cabinet, dropping something flush on the floor, "Totalling up our ships?"

Hicks tosses the tablet on the top of the rack above the open door, "That's what they always do here", and also gets himself immersed in sorting out the things.

"Highly unlikely they will admit the third squad to Station until you sign the agreement," Corrigan notices.

Hicks rounds on his fellow Marine, "If I sign they all,” he nods to the lockers which two of them sift through together, "will be stamped AWOL, and their families will get nothing!"

“And if you don't sign it the remaining few of us are disbanded, and it is unlikely going to be the colonial infantry. So it's up to you," Corrigan reasonably inserts.

Hicks does not have enough time to finish the assumption, "Thunders can marshal the group if he..." when the second man ultimately raises his voice, "Thunders will hardly..."

Out of the blue, at the very same moment, there is Ripley's hail heard, irresolute and fraught with unease, "Hey... Dwayne..."

Both men fall silent right on cue and swing about. Ripley recognises the second guy: he is the one in the Hicks' unit photo standing close to Hudson's sister at the opposite side from Hicks. Corporal looks congruously nonplussed and thrilled to see Ripley again, he gazes at her new haircut and introduces Mark Corrigan and Ellen Ripley to each other as much nonchalantly as he can pretend. Ripley sets about explaining to Corrigan who she is and what she is doing here.

The other marine, eyeing Ripley no less openly than Hicks, interrupts unperturbedly, "I know, Hicks told me."

Ripley prims her lips for an instant and reports her discovery of damaged steel gratings to be told straight off that Corrigan et al have arrived from Earth in this exactly spaceship Montero three hours ago.

Ripley pauses dumbfounded, "From the Earth..." She feels her stomach plummeting and pivots on her heels aside from the both men, in bewilderment.

Hicks exchanges the glance with Corrigan and presses on, "Still and all, I'm gonna ask her for some snoop."

"I hate this idea, cannot condone it, cannot nix it either," Corrigan exhales noisily.

Ripley about-faces to them back and now intensely peers at Hicks and Corrigan in turns.

In a trice, Corrigan slaps Hicks on the shoulder, "Skip it, I'll be there in an hour and a half."

With a cold gaze, Hicks addresses Ripley, "Are you coming with me?"

She looks into his eye at a loss and his stare softens.

23.

COMMUTER CAB, one of the shuttles riding the lateral tunnel struts between station blocks, carries Ripley and Hicks towards the sector number 2. They stay put together, opposite each other at the rear door. There are other people inside across the cabin, mostly near the door they entered the commuter through. Silently Hicks glimpses at Ripley, she lowers her eyes and looks away. She tried so relentlessly to consign to oblivion everything connected with LV-426, including him, so that she would eventually and lastly move back to Earth in peace, but now she has got gnawing doubts that Earth is safe and all families living there are exempt of Alien menace.

Suddenly Hicks says, "Looks great," nodding at her haircut.

Ripley, with a small sigh of relief and all but imperceptible smile, passes her hand through the hair and utters almost in a whisper, "Thank you."

24.

Tech/Maintenance block, sector number 2.

The girl who opens the door bears an arrant copy of Hudson's features on her face. Ripley is struck by the outward resemblance between IRENE HUDSON and her late twin brother. Irene, apparently frustrated, gestures them inside and Ripley once again strives to peer into her face, but the other woman hides it on Hicks' shoulder.

Irene murmurs, "I didn't even come to say goodbye."

Hicks embraces her, no words escape. After a brief shared moment, Irene pulls herself together and regards Ripley, holds out her palm. Hicks gives their names to one another, women shake hands.

Finally having been acquainted with Ripley, Irene plaintively articulates, "I'm sorry", and goes to the kitchen. "Coffee?"

Hicks casts a look at Ripley and follows Hudson's sister.

Irene's home compartment is noticeably more spacious than the one where Ripley lives, walls arrangement mirrors the layout of Hicks' apartment. Ripley takes in the standard meagre interior and notices a lot of Hudson's photos, a youthful photo of the three of them with Hicks among keepsakes, her eyes well up with tears.

25.

Upon Mark Corrigan's return, Irene looks more lively, "Flipping tricksy evil company! How come nobody hasn't zapped them yet? Corrigan, sure there still is a fancy gun for me in reserve."

Hicks reasons,"What's the point? If tomorrow others will appear in their place."

Mark puts his arm around indignant Irene's shoulders and supplies instead of her," I'm sorry, but it concerns everyone on Earth. If some dimwits had half a brain to drag this dangerous species to Earth, there they go as one with their pets."

Ripley wordlessly watches all the debate and at last, after Corrigan's comment, quietly reflects, "Before you wade into war, it would help to understand with whom we are at war."

Hicks gives her a swift once-over, then asks Irene, "We could get to company's special archives somehow?"

Irene squints, but Corrigan cuts him off, "You know as well as I do she cannot break the agreement. Three years of suspended sentence can ripen into the very real and, in addition, those programmes and codes have long been destroyed."

“Well...” Irene pensively drawls, peeping at Corrigan, "Not really", and views Hicks.

"Excellent!" Corrigan responds taken aback and ironic.

26.

From somewhere overhead at the ceiling cabinet of her compartment, Irene procures a dusty case, there is an OLD LAPTOP enclosed. She unwraps it, switches on. The screen flickers to live displaying familiar to Ripley photo: young Hicks and Hudson siblings.

Irene stares at the photo for a second, then turns to face Corrigan, "I'll need the second, more powerful machine."

Ripley offers to bring in her laptop as it's at the neighbouring sector. Irene winks at her and non-vocally studies Corrigan for consent. He reluctantly hands over his COMPUTER and remarks that he would better go and get something to eat unless they all four are not going to declare a mass hunger strike.

"Well baby, don't let me down", Irene urges her old laptop and initiates an application for proxy servers search. "Okay, what are we looking for?"

While Corrigan hustles in the kitchen Irene, Ripley and Hicks voice off keywords for the search – ships and planets titles, their names, ID numbers, 'Alien', 'Xenomorph', etc. – anything they can call up to mind.

Irene is busy between the two laptops: she transfers applications to Corrigan's machine, monitors the search in her own and explains to Ripley and Hicks what tasks the laptops are occupied by. When the search in her computer is over she reconnects it to the network through the series of detected screening proxy servers, runs a counter-tracking and protective programmes, connects the newer laptop through her old one and kicks off the search application on Corrigan's laptop.

"The hunt is on”, Irene summarises. “Meanwhile, we can get a snack."

27.

All four have extempore dinner. Ever and again, Irene checks the machines and reaffirms there are matches in search results; the unearthed data – coincident files and folders from the company's servers – is copied to Corrigan's laptop. Ripley asks if there is anything specific on their topic.

"Should look through it later, there is a hell of records, just enough for a ten-volume encyclopaedia," Irene states matter-of-factly.

Ripley proceeds to inquire if there is something on the ship Montero and Irene finds matching files among the swindled-out material, "Definitely!"

Ripley followed by Hicks and Corrigan joins Irene in the main room. Hudson's sister chews on potato chips from a can and runs a video file. Ripley comes close to the screen and witnesses a camera recording, panning with six facehugger eggs placed on familiar floor grids. Aghast all four watch the video of loading the eggs by remotely operated forklifts onto the ship. Irene's hand with a crisp freezes halfway in midair. Ripley feels nausea sweeping over her and dashes to the bathroom, Hicks lunges after her, but she motions him to stop and throws up there.

Embarrassed Corrigan asks how the rest feel.

Irene fully absorbed in the monitor and files sorting intones, "Mark, come clean what for did you want to poison us?"

Corrigan shies away from her remark, "Irene, for God's sake, it's the most comestible tack on this station I can get."

Irene grins, "Come on, you're just proud to do without the corn bread", and wonders out loud whether they have found what they were looking for.

Hicks acknowledges the finds and sees Ripley return, "You're alright?"

Ripley nods and asks Irene if she can track down the current location of the payload brought on board the Montero.

Irene replies with a bit of swagger, "Easily, sector D7."

Hicks and Corrigan simultaneously share incredulity, "D7?"

In chorus with their question, Irene who is still staring at the monitor casually refers to Ripley, "You don't happen to be pregnant, do you?"

The whole “motley crew” exchange glances: Hicks surprised, Mark suspicious, Irene with a smile and Ripley stunned.

Corrigan breaks the silence facing Ripley, "When was the last time?"

Ripley shakes his head, her eyes flickering between him and Hicks.

Irene impatiently taps her fingers on the laptop shell, "Come on, baby, we're all in the same boat. He is your boyfriend”, she nods towards Hicks. “This is a doctor”, the glimpse at Corrigan, “and I am”, Irene sighs, “a frigging hacker."

Mark points to Irene's tin of chips, "Take them away," and asks Ripley to lie down, she is pale as he checks the blood pressure and pulse.

Irene comes back from the kitchen and puts forward to Hicks, "And yet you, constructor, electrician and father-to-be, tell me where on the station of six sectors is there the seventh, huh?”

"You are a hacker, you tell me," Hicks retorts unflinchingly.

"Hmm," Irene sits down at the laptop again.

Hicks calls medblock and requests an appointment for diagnostics, tells Ripley's name and personal number.

Mark interposes, "She needs a scan."

Hicks relays that scanning is also required and a medic on the other end asks to wait for the arrangement on hold.

28.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

In the Station Medical Centre, an application for diagnostics is registered, a receptionist fills out Ripley's details and waits for the response from a pool of available primary care physicians to set up the date and time. One of the passing by the reception desk Bishop-like androids pays attention to Ripley's entry and volunteers to see the patient out of schedule in the next twenty minutes.

29.

Tech/Maintenance block, sector number 2.

Hicks hangs up the phone, "Ellen, twenty minutes.”

Mark punctuates open-eyed," So soon?"

Like a shot, the virtual alert system triggers in the old Irene's computer.

Ripley nods “Thanks” to Hicks and demands from Irene, "What is it?"

"They are ferreting around for the attack source. My external screen's died, there are two more to go."

Ripley gets up," How much time do we still have?"

Irene shrugs, "Haven't the foggiest idea, it's the random numbers."

The group inspects Corrigan's display, "Still copying."

Irene starts, "Yeah, I'm telling you, the frig-off encyclopaedia..."

But the second triggered alarm interrupts and Corrigan shouts out to Irene, “Shut them down!"

She bobs her head and maximises the connection application on the Corrigan's machine screen. The third alarm signals, Irene cuts off the connection on the Corrigan's laptop. The med-tech bolts towards the old Irene's computer, but she stops him, "Leave it. No need, it's already pinned down."

“Damn,” Corrigan is flustered.

Ripley is anxious, "What's now?"

"Wouldn't it sound off if I say we got to leg it out of here?" Irene provides pragmatically.

The videophone rings, all jump in their skin except for Irene, "Shh, quiet, they are looking for an IT-whiz."

Ripley, "An IT-whiz?"

"Yes, I am, but still on vacation till Monday, so nobody's home now." A moment for the facts to sink in. A couple of noiseless seconds are followed by Irene's shriek, "My phone! Should've killed it!” As on cue, her mobile interphone goes off blaring and unyielding. "Damn it! Right, and I forgot the bugging thing at home."

"What about camping in my place?" Ripley invites.

"No, better let's move over to mine, we're used to the military environs and the suite is roomier,” Hicks counter-offers and everyone agrees.

Ripley motions in the direction to the old Irene's laptop, "How quickly will they locate it?"

Irene waves her hand in dismissal, "The question is not how fast, but what they would come upon", turns to Corrigan, "Your nephew is still dawdling around here?"

"No, Irene, please..."

"Dial."

Corrigan activates a number and passes the interphone on to Irene, youthful voice on the other end chimes, "Hi Mark..."

"Hey there, darling!"

"Whoa! Irene, listen...”

"Laters! Still want to know what's it like to be a real hacker?"

"Cool!"

30.

Hicks and Ripley rush to the elevator as she asks on the go, "What's gonna happen to Corrigan's nephew?"

"Don't worry, Irene knows what she's doing." Hicks' interphone comes to life, he answers the call, "Hit me, Corrigan."

"The pilots are on the station."

"Bring them to me, too."

"Lee's checked in with them."

Hicks clenches his jaws, a shadow of guilt briefly crosses his face, he promised her to bring Wierzbowski home safe and sound. With a sigh, Hicks approves, "All right."

The couple-in-question reach the elevator and wait for the door to open. Ripley avoids looking Hicks in the face, "Listen, they need you, I can manage it myself. Go back, I'll turn in as soon as I am through." To back up her promise Ripley shows him the electronic card that she wears around her neck.

Hicks slightly smiles, "Good. Do not be gone long, Ellen.»

The elevator doors open, Ripley smiles cheerlessly, nods," Yes, I remember," and steps into the elevator.

31.

In Irene's home compartment Corrigan and she pack in a flurry. Irene urges, "Take this, get that, they'll sequester all the equipment." Already on her way to the door, Irene glances around the room, snaps to steady focus on the old photo of three of them – brother, Hicks and her – on her laptop and nears it.

Corrigan insists, "Irene, get a move on", but notices what she stares at, his tone lowers, "Time to go."

Irene removes the photo from the screen and swirls to the exit.

32.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

Ripley, changed to examination gown, is in a scanning module, the scanner sensors slide head to toe passing above and flanking her. A nurse gets the embryo image on the screen. Synthetic Bishop enters the diagnostic ward and tells the nurse that it's the last patient today.

The scanner finally opens. Ripley scrambles out and sees him, "Bishop?"

"Yes," Bishop eyes her point-blank, but there is neither a gleam of recognition nor a tiny sign of understanding that Ripley expected to find in his reaction. Bishop nonchalantly informs Ripley, "Ma'am, get dressed and come to see me."

Behind a folding screen, Ripley puts on her customary chinos and shirt.

The nurse checks the equipment and turns it off, "See you tomorrow, Bishop."

"Good evening, Christine," the same croaking indifferent voice. The nurse leaves.

33.

Military block, sector number 5.

The door throws wide and through the opening into Hicks' home compartment abruptly darts a red-haired woman with a high ponytail on the crown of her head and an incensed face, CHELESKA “LEE” RUSHINSKA. She aims a blow to hit Hicks in the face, but he sharply blocks the punch with the arm, Lee swings back her left hand but gets restrained from behind by mulatto man JONATHAN THUNDERS and mestizo women KATHLYN DELAWARE who grab Lee's arms and shoulders.

Corrigan jumps up and lunges towards the door, Irene anxiously turns her head to the scuffle. Hicks in agitation watches Thunders and Delaware drag resisting Lee to the kitchen.

34.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

Ripley appears from behind the folding screen, "Well, what is my verdict, Doctor?"

Bishop, "Three to four weeks."

Ripley wearily rubs her forehead and lets out in a low tone, "I can't believe this."

Bishop's attempts a glimpse at the door from the corner of his eye, they are alone in the room. "How's Newt?"

Ripley raises her eyes to meet his, amused and hopeful, "Our Bishop?"

He smiles bashfully, "I think so."

The uncovering enlivens Ripley, "But how?"

35.

Military block, sector number 5.

Corrigan peeks into Hicks' face, "She didn't graze you?”

Hicks dryly, "I'm fine."

At this instant, Irene calls, "Dwayne", and tilts her head beckoning him to the laptop screen. He approaches, Corrigan tags behind him. There is the embryo scanned image on the display, caption denotes sizes and duration: three to four weeks. Hicks exchanges a glance with Irene, then looks back at the picture. The med-tech pries into the monitor and slaps Hicks on the shoulder.

36.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

Bishop apologises that he could cause any inconvenience by reason of hiding all his memory of the events on LV-426 from the company. He decided, as a result of the law inhibiting him to harm human beings by action, that would be better for everyone. Especially since the way the company utilises the obtained data, using them always in their favour, would hardly have helped Ripley and Hicks at the inquiry conference. "If they wanted to conceal something from you, they would have all data under wraps anyway."

Ripley thanks to Bishop, "You did all right,” and out of sheer curiosity adds, “Look, maybe you know something about the existence of sector D7?”

Bishop after a pause and somehow sadly reveals, "This is a restricted company's sector that exists in a separate temporal and spatial plane and is not available from our usual time continuum."

Ripley is stunned, her countenance changes to a mask of disbelief, "What?"

The door opens, someone peers in, "351st, you are wanted on the 5th level."

"Yes, we have already finished, Dr. Morgan." Bishop formally addresses Ripley, "I will see you off the chamber."

Ripley gazes at Bishop, as he removes the embryo scanner record and Ripley's examination file.

In the corridor, Ripley and Bishop pass by a Med centre employee in a white scrub. Ripley takes off her neck chain with the card, quietly slips it into Bishop's hand and mouths, "As soon as possible."

He looks down at the card, it says Dwayne Hicks. Bishop gives a barely perceptible nod and scoots away.

37.

Military block, sector number 5.

Ripley crosses the threshold of the front room at Hicks' apartment, low-key despite her fretting mind. He examines her intently as she passes by and takes after her.

There are the rest of the team loosely stationed with their laptops every which way: Irene is seated right on the floor in the centre of the room with one computer in her lap, Corrigan's PC resting nearby, and she alternately forages through the mass of charts and folders in both; the others are around her. Hicks' laptop lies flat on the niche bed at the right wall, opened 180 degrees, over its panels in the air hovers a holographic three-dimensional projection of the orbital station, all six units and antennas. Corrigan and Thunders lean over, rotating the volumetric image from side to side, and discuss something. Close by the left wall, the mestizo is perched at the desk with the videophone on it, Thunders' open laptop is on the table, too. Not far from the entrance door the red-haired woman sits on the floor, there are also photos and open documents seen on her screen.

Hicks introduces them to each other: Ellen and Cheleska. The red-head shoots out her hand to Ripley without even turning her head, "Lee." Ripley gingerly shakes her hand and casts a speculative gaze at Hicks.

He briefly gesticulates “It's okay” and points at Thunders and Delaware, they nod greetings and wave back to Ripley, considering her brazenly for some more time, she nods “Hello” in response to them.

Corrigan breaks the muted tension in the room, "How are you?" Ripley motions “All right”.

Irene casually blurts out in the direction of Ripley, "Congrats."

Delaware sing-songs, "What's the occasion?"

Hicks says in an undertone, "I've got an off chance of being a pa."

Ripley frowns, Delaware's jaw drops in astonishment and eyebrows arch, Thunders opens his mouth eager to comment, but espies the tight expression on Corrigan 's face of and closes his mouth shut, settling on smirking.

Without warning and abruptly Lee gets to her feet and noisily lays the laptop down, strides to the desk and takes a cigarette, "The two of you haven't been wasting your time, have you.”

Hicks, "Smoking in the kitchen."

She gazes him up and down and walks away. Irene exhales a silent sigh, Delaware turns after Lee, but Thunders gesture her to stop, Corrigan waves his head: "Don't."

An awkward pause for Ripley ticks away, she finally pulls her thoughts together and says, "The 7th sector exists." Five pairs of eyes set on her.

Thunders grins, "I always knew they puff on some pretty shit in the medical sector!"

Irene with a chuckle, "Yeah, tell me more, a freaking-special-packing for the preggies!"

Ripley, not paying attention to ad-libs, emphasises to Hicks, "Bishop knows about it."

Hicks snaps at Irene and Thunders, "You two, knock it off!" And turns to Ripley “Wait, but he's been written off after Sulaco."

Ripley shakes her head, "He's been restored."

Domestic videophone buzzes for heed. Delaware, who is sitting at the table next to it, pokes fun at Hicks, "Hoping for guests at eleven p.m.? Some of your birds?"

Thunders clear the throat by design, Corrigan and Irene widen their eyes, Delaware crinkles her nose, turns to face Ripley and mouths regretfully, "I'm sorry."

Hicks shrugs and activates the videophone,"Dwayne Hicks.”

From the other end a man in fatigue instructs, "Corporal, you must report tomorrow at 0800 a.m. to the medical sector, level one, upper floor, public hallway. There is new intel on the starship Almayer that requires your participation. And if you are aware of the whereabouts of Lieutenant Ripley, make sure to pass along the injunction to her to attend as well."

"Understood." The screen goes blank.

Ripley, who silently watched all the preceding pantomime, again interrupts the pause, "Have you found anything on Almayer?"

Irene recites, "Only what we already figured out. She shoved off from the 6th Sector six weeks ago bound to LV-426, landed there, found nothing and, I hazard a guess, recently reappeared at the base. As to the time count, she might already be..."

Delaware disrupts Irene's account, consulting some chats in the computer, "She has moored at the 6th scientific and medical sector, like an hour ago."

Thunders waves at the projection of the station and challenges Ripley, "Well, where the hell is the seventh then?"

"I'm afraid I will not be able to repeat what Bishop explained, but he promised to come over today. In short, it belongs with another spacetime."

Corrigan announces, "Gees, Ellen, there are pictures of you all over there." Ripley draws near him and spots the Nostromo archive, her old photos in Nostromo jumpsuit. Hicks falls behind and looks over her shoulder.

Corrigan skims through the length of material, the rest come close and listen carefully, «Project 012FAE.ACHERON.2219 closed 11/03/24... Starships and crews of Patna, Ossipon, Nan-Shan, Nostromo... Verloc considered missing. Haldin delivered to the station without cargo and crew, Costaguana successfully delivered to the station."

Ripley flinches in apprehension, "She brought something?"

Delaware is shocked, low voice, "Unbelievable they could bump off so many people for the sake of that thing..."

While Corrigan searches information on the ship Costaguana, Thunders shouts out, "You guys, I've got mentions of Costaguana." The group in unison heads over to surround him. "Arrived... delivered... Experimental complex, wave and temporal radiation..." Thunders opens the files one by one, writings with a bunch of formulae and equations inundate the screen. "Irene, what did you send me? Others have pictures, least.”

Lee notes in passing, "Which you wouldn't want to look at..."

Irene sweetly intones to Thunders, "Do the math if you missed it at school, baby, it's your second chance."

"Equations in five rows, the whole line length and written in Greek scrawls?"

Hicks adds softly but firmly, "It's physics, boy."

“You know what?” Thunders, losing it, handles the laptop to Hicks, "Here goes, all yours!"

38.

A team of two armed infantry and three company IT-techs speechlessly run to the door of a home-compartment, they break into the lodging and cop off guard a 13-14 year old boy with gore-red-dyed hair and punky-ish appearance and mannerism, DYLAN CORRIGAN. He feigns surprise, "Uh oh!"

All station's passageways and doors look pretty much alike but this is now Tech/Maintenance block, sector number 2.

The apprehension team frisk-search him, impound the computer, rummage the apartment, find and seize the lad's documents. One of the IT-tech exclaims, "What the hell, this is the cubicle of Irene Hudson." Another IT-tech calls her mobile interphone, rested on the desk it starts to ring.

One of the IT-techs gestures at Dylan, "Pack him away." The boy is led out into the corridor.

39.

Military block, sector number 5.

On the floor alongside the desk, Hicks is settled down with the computer in his lap, Delaware and Irene are on either side of him, they look at the screen and hash out something in a low voice.

Ripley takes a second-short look at them and enquires Corrigan, "So, it turns out the project had been closed after Costaguana?”

"Yes, back in 2124, probably, they had found what they have been seeking, extraterrestrial spaceship, Space Jockey pilot, whatever they called him. And what inspired them to scribble out the bunch of hieroglyphs." He motions at the trio – Delaware, Irene, Hicks - who peruse the monitor and talk. On the Corrigan's screen is seen a photo of the alien pilot seated in alien ship's chair which is in the middle of a circular bridge; above him hangs a device such as a telescope, his chest is a fragmentation of ribs from chestburster's birth.

Ripley supplies, "Or they must've been lucky and had never reached the eggs cemetery."

The door opens gently, all heads turning, Bishop enters in his patterned restrained and tactful manner, "Good evening."

He is greeted back by the group. Delaware, "Ooh! I'm glad to see you safe and sound."

"Yes, thanks to Lieutenant Ripley..."

Lee stands up, cursorily glances at Ripley, grabs another cigarette. "I'm with you," Delaware leaves after her to the right, towards the kitchen.

Irene states, "Bishop, as a tried-and-true researcher, perhaps, you will be into this."

"Can I have a look?" He lifts Lee 's laptop in front of him from the floor.

Lee cries out from the kitchen, "Be my guest. There are piles of things to categorise 'Shouldn't read before bed', genetic experiments, testing on humans, shipping cutesy pets from LV-426...»

Bishop confesses to Ripley, "I'm shocked, I do know nothing about it."

Ripley presses on, "And all of this is attributed to the 7th sector."

"It is not surprising that it's so classified," Bishop admits.

Thunders snorts, "Gee! Meaning it exists, though?"

“Yes, but in refracted space and time."

All but Ripley and Hicks exchange a series of looks in bewilderment, "Where?"

Hicks wisecracks mildly, "In the twilight zone." Thunders gives a chuckle.

Bishop nears Hicks' laptop, where three-dimensional station image still hovers above, and points to the antenna abutting Touristic Sector D3, "Here, on the other side of the antenna, our physical space is refracted and we don't see sector D7 in our world, but it's the same size and design as the rest of the station sectors." Bishop signalises from the top down on one of the sectors, “Gravity and power supply system with reactor and generators at the top, living and working levels in the middle and docking decks below. There is a passage to the station through the antenna tech-complex, but I have never used it, so I am not sure where exactly it is..."

"But you've been there?” Ripley insists.

"Yes, however, never above the docking sub-level. There is a ship at the station with a similar emitter as the one the antenna has. When it's activated, you will fly into synchronised space of sector D7...”

"Montero?" Ripley guesses.

"Unknown, the ships can have different names, and it's likely the transmitter can also be transferred to another ship."

"You could activate it singly, couldn't you?" Hicks wonders.

"I once piloted the ship and saw the co-pilot navigator used it." Bishop, pivoting his head in direction of Delaware and Thunders, advises, "If Corporal Thunders or pilot Delaware fly the ship, I think, I can turn it on."

Thunders chortles, "Smarty nosey pants you are Bishop! Though, what does it look like?"

Corrigan's interphone trills mid-conversation and he picks up the phone, "Corrigan. Yes, she is there... Just a second,” he swivels to Irene and passes the interphone. "Have found. Play nicely."

In the background, Bishop talks to Delaware and Thunders, "...a false panel in the navigator console…"

Irene clutches the Corrigan's phone, "Hudson's listening."

Bishop departs from the pilots, they stay behind and talk to one another.

Irene apparently scoffs on the phone, "...good, what's more, is don't forget to muzzle him, to be sure!"

Bishop to Hicks and Ripley, "You might be interested in that tomorrow Rebecca Hudson is transported to her new custodians on Earth, Hicks' family, at 8 a.m.."

Hicks frowns, "Damn, we've got a get-together at the same 800."

Irene in the background hangs up the phone, "Freaking jerks." Thunders and Delaware take notice of her indignation and, in the background, they all three confabulate about Corrigan's nephew, about the ship Montero time and again.

Corrigan listens to them and at the same time follows the conversation between Bishop, Ripley and Hicks; Lee heeds them, too.

Ripley defies tomorrow meeting, "So, I am not coming or will show up later. I want to see Newt off and I promised to give away Jones to her.”

Lee repeats questioningly, "Jones?"

Hicks spell out, "A red cat, the same red as you, Lee."

"No, you two should go there. I can see the girl off and Lee seems to be available in the morning,” Corrigan reasons.

Lee shrugs, "Well, only if he is really red."

Bishop hands in his plastic card to Hicks, "Find the ship," and refers to Corrigan, "Dr. Corrigan, you probably know that Lieutenant Ripley is..."

"Yes, and even more..."

Lee rivets Ripley's attention, "All right, let's go and fetch your cat," and the two of them walk out of the front room. The chatting hum never settles in the apartment behind.

40.

Commercial/Cargo block, sector number 1.

In her apartment, Ripley hugs the cat, pets and squeeze the opposing animal into a plastic transport-box.

Lee absently watches her, "You know, maybe there is some sense in all of this, one life taken away, one life given." Turns to the door hiding her face. No moments of weakness for the strong women. “Let's go."

Ripley slowly gets up and hands over the travel carrier with the cat, "Only the whole lot doesn't feel right to me."

Lee flinches in disbelief, "How's that?"

"That is all I wanted was come back to Earth with the girl, and this is,” she waves along her front, “so out of place."

Lee grows hot under the collar, "What is it? Are you with him and you are not?"

"Not together, it just happened," Ripley rubs her forehead, wearied out and frayed.

Lee twirls towards her and barrages in a firm voice and in one breath, "It happened? Look, girl, you're probably a really nice person once you've saved them, and at least three times older than me, yet none of this now gives you a licence to decide by yourself and leave the others behind your back. You'd be better off talking with him now, not to me. And the fact that you are hanging together with us today, maybe it doesn't mean much to you, it matters to me. You know, we trust each other with our lives in the team. I don't know the whole legend of him and, probably, some wench had treated him badly in the past, but the fact that you're the first person we see next to him just like that among us, is for him it's certainly not just happened."

Faltering and fazed out, Ripley strives to interject a word during the whole tirade, but the tears tide up and choke her and she covers her face.

Lee rants on without a lull, "I hope you have enough common sense to not tell Irene what you have said to me just now. Because – know you it or not – Hicks is like a brother to her, the one whom she has lost." Lee wheels her head as if trying to dismiss memories or nightmare, her ponytail flits over from one shoulder onto the other. She continues less fervently, "We live today, here and now. The sooner you will deal with this the better." After a pause and nearly whispering Lee touches Ripley on the shoulder, "Time to go..."

Ripley noisily draws air in and straightens up, "All right, let's go."

Lee takes the plastic cage with the feline. Two women wander out, shattered and brooding. The door shuts close.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the picture, from top to bottom, from left to right are:  
> Hicks, Ripley, Bishop,  
> Irene, Corrigan, Dylan,  
> Lee, Thunders, Delaware.


	3. FIRST VICTIMS AND ENCOUNTER

41.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

It's only 8 a.m., however, even in the morning the station effuses the air of bubbling activity; there are employees in formal attire and white scrubs alternatively walking down the corridors.

In one of hallway bays, Ripley leans against the porthole window, there is a partial view of the third Tourist sector with the antenna in front of her across the space. Her bottle-green suit – chinos with the high elastic waist, decorated by a low-sitting belt, and a short jacket puckered likewise into elastic band under the breast – is paired with a white top under it and grey sneakers. Ripley speaks affectionately on the interphone, "...yes, sweetheart, you and Jones will stay there until I come for you... I love you, too. Kisses and hugs.” In a matter of a second her tone loses cooing warmth, “Thanks, Mark, and tell my thanks to Cheleska. See you soon.”

Hicks stands next to Ripley. Almost at the same moment as she hangs up he sums up, "Awesome, you do that," lowers the phone and explains to Ripley, "Irene's at the hearing on the Corrigan's kid case, the pilots are after clearance to the docking hubs over all sectors. Later they'll set out to walk around the ships with Corrigan and Lee."

Ripley nods quietly, "Good." Her mind is still at the Tourist sector.

Hicks takes a cigarette, lights up. Ripley reaches out too, but he stops her with a cold and taut glare, “Till you have an... please, don't."

Ripley retracts her hand, "Like that matters..." but notices his gaze, trails off and rubs her forehead.

Two men – one in a military uniform, the second in a white medical outfit – enter the hall. "Corporal? Lieutenant? " Ripley and Hicks spin around on the call.

42.

Touristic block, sector number 3.

Newt accompanied by a boarding staff member, who carries now her cat's transport-box, moves away towards the shuttle's space bridge hatch, turns around last time waving at Lee and Corrigan, they signal “Bye” back to her.

Corrigan muses to Lee, "Do you think the pilot's get-up will suit me?"

Lee exhales, "No sooner than me." They both turn around and head for the elevators.

Corrigan, "Gees, Lee, leave us weak men at least something."

She gives him a nudge in the ribs, "No weak men among my friends."

Corrigan massages his side, "Good poke in a funny way."

43.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

Yet in the lobby bay, the Captain and the Doctor inform Ripley and Hicks that last night the ship Almayer has moored upon homecoming from LV-426. Although the research team did not find anything extraordinary on the alien ship, something happened to the two crew members who examined it. The research team lost communication with the two men when they were going to leave the alien ship on LV-426, and later the rest of the group found them lying in a coma. Which is their up-to-the-minute condition at the station.

Ripley shudders from the noticeable worry, "Did they have anything on their faces?"

"No, they just were and remain unconscious," the doctor supplies.

Hicks, "Did you run the scanner over their bodies?"

"Yes, and there's something there,” the medic prevaricates.

Ripley, "Can we see it?"

The military man declares, "You were summoned for this and this is an official warrant with the possibility of restoring both of you in all your rights, including..."

Ripley cuts him off, "It goes without saying. Where are they now?!”

The doctor shows the way, "Fourth level." All four quickly hurry out of the bay alcove.

Hicks warns the military, "You better put your people on red alert, Captain."

Ripley adds, "And evacuate the station personnel!"

The military doesn't have any of it, "There's no need for that."

Ripley and Hicks glance at each other apace in a silent and concentrated accord.

44.

The elevator door whirs open and the сaptain, the medic, Ripley and the Hicks step out into a nearly empty hallway, neither distant voices nor scuttling noises around. The guard of the two fully-equipped paratroopers, flanked at the elevator door, shifts and accompanies them. Hicks and Ripley catch sight of them, they are unfamiliar to Hicks. The doctor gestures the direction along the corridor, "Over there."

The four traverse a couple of adjoining rooms until they reach the LAB AREA bordered off by a HALF-GLASS WALL. There are a few med staff members seated in front of the monitoring equipment, one of the group addresses the doctor once they enter, "All the same, no change." Behind the wall can be seen two people lying supine and motionless on the gurneys, with vital sensors attached to them.

The medic beckons Ripley and Hicks, "Have a look here..." and pauses to observe –

Two immobilised up to this point people behind the wall suddenly wake up from a coma, begin to move, open their eyes, scrabbling to get up. One of the med-techs watching the equipment, yells, "Changes! Heart rate, pressure increase..."

The men behind the wall plop down right on the floor, jerkingly groping around and stiffened by cramps, they scream in pain, half-muffled. In a heartbeat, the regular fluorescent lights go out and red, emergency lighting turns on. On the other side of the dividing wall, shouts are heard alongside some kind of rattling and roaring. All the doors automatically open in the emergency.

Hicks quickly pushes Ripley back to the wall opposite the laboratory room of horrors. He jostles past two paratroopers, ripping a rifle from one of them, and orders, "All fall back!"

However, Ripley snatches a pistol out from the captain's holster and trots after Hicks. The horrific noises cease behind the half-glass wall, overall pother subsides, people in the central room stand still, peering into and being all ears for the darkness ahead.

Hicks quietly, "Watch it. Anything moves, you shoot at sight!" 

The captain and two infantrymen also finally train their weapons onwards. Silence. No movement. One, two, three seconds tick away. Artificial daylight floods the room, the doors automatically slide shut. Hicks and Ripley's eye sweep around the floor, furniture and whatnots. All the other people look scared, nervous and shocked beyond compare. Hicks slowly approaches the sealed lab chamber.

Ripley gingerly follows him, whispering, "Dwayne, be careful."

He motions her with the left hand to stay behind, all the others slowly trail after them. Hicks glances through the glass wall and frowns, Ripley peeks in beside him and recoils with a groan, covering her mouth with the hand.

On the floor, there are two almost turned inside out bodies visible, lying prone, their spines arching out of the rent flesh at the neck and shoulder blades region.

Ripley sighs convulsively and mutters to Hicks, "But it's not them."

Hicks wags his head, concurring, "Something or other", approaches the paratrooper, holds out the rifle, "Thanks, pal." The military looks at him terror-stricken and takes it back.

Ripley faces the no less shocked doctor, "You wanted to show us something," and in passing gives the captain back his pistol, "Seems it's yours."

The doctor silently gestures, ushering them to the lab screens, there are pictures of some kind of NEEDLE-THIN PROLONGED IMPLANTS in the spinal cords of two people, displayed in the scanner images.

Hicks gazes at the screen, "This killed them."

"Would you care to tell us what this is?" the captain steps out.

"No clue, I hold that we see that the first time... Ellen?"

Ripley nods and wonders to Hicks, "What was the drawdown of power over the circuit from?"

He eyes her, readable meeting of the minds, then casts a momentary glimpse at the screen, looks up at the semi-glass wall and squints, “Hardly a coincidence.”

45.

The captain's interphone rings loud, he picks up the receiver, "Captain Hopkins... Wilco, Sir. Code 315."

While in the background the captain sputters out instructions to prepare warships for flight, Ripley questions Hicks, "What does the code 315 mean?"

Hicks replies in his iconic unwincing and calm manner, "Alien invasion."

Another one alarmed military man with a laptop in his hands hotfoots it to the lab ward. In the background, med-techs finish up slipping into bio-isolation suits and set about collecting data and packing two mutilated bodies. 

Ripley urges the captain, "Evacuate people from the station!"

Captain obviously ignores her, "Corporal, you are enlisted to my group."

Hicks doesn't blink an eye, "Do what she told you."

The captain shoots them both dirty looks in turns, hackles getting up, but the military man with a laptop calls for his attention, "Recon intel, Sir!"

Ripley and Hicks spy the screen right after him. There is outlined an ALIEN SPACECRAFT against the starry-field background, similar to the one that was discovered on Acheron once. Ripley and Hicks exchange glances. The military reports parameters of the ship, trajectory of her flight; that she appeared literally out of nowhere ten minutes ago; that the alien ship ignores their calls and her arrival time at the station is estimated in about two hours.

Captain rounds on Ripley and Hicks, "You know something about this and are not telling me."

Ripley disregards the allegation and all but hollers at the captain that he give orders to send people off from the station.

Hicks' interphone trills. "Dwayne Hicks... Stellar, Jon. All right, we'll meet downstairs."

The captain finally punches the number on his phone, identifies himself by the name and ID number and enunciates, "Secretary, the code for the station is 010, yes, I confirm, across all sectors."

Ripley, "Including the seventh?"

Hicks grips her hand and pulls to the exit door.

The captain vents out his obvious annoyance on to Ripley, "Ma'am, there is no such sector, proceed to the evacuation," then turns to Hicks, "Corporal, you are accompanying me to the manoeuvring ship, this is an order."

Hicks with Ripley are already at the door-sill onward from the laboratory, "Without ECA sanction, this is hysteria, Captain,” and he faces Ripley, "we gotta go faster until the panic sets off." On their way to the elevators, he activates a number call, but the person on the other end doesn't react. They run into the elevator car and Hicks dials another number.

46.

Tech/Maintenance block, sector number 2.

In the conference room at the hearing in Dylan's case, Irene notices her muted interphone twinkle with calling signal, Hicks' identifier distinguishable, but she cannot pick it up. There are seven people sitting around an elliptic desk, including Irene.

Dylan in his cheeky, relaxed and playful manner testifies, "...and then yesterday, when I dropped by my uncle Mark and aunt Irene's, this thing was in their closet, like calling, I mean to play a game or two, but there something popped up, some matrix crunching of sorts, I had no idea..."

One of the committee members breaks up his blabber, "Hudson, do you confirm the words of Dylan Corrigan on the use of portable device with codes and hacking programmes that you illegally..."

Irene glances at Dillon and interposes, wistful and distrait, "Yes, I wasn't at home that time and I left him the key."

"You also confirm that you have violated paragraph 5.1.9 of your agreement specifying mandatory destruction of any malicious software that had been available at your disposal."

"I am just an over-emotional, nostalgia-ridden girl."

"Miss Hudson..."

The spokesman's gaze gets riveted to the central viewscreen in the room. CODE 010, inscribed grossly in red, flashes on there, followed by the same warning on the monitors of committee members; the head of the board goes silent.

47.

Strut tunnel between Med/Science and Military blocks.

Inside the commuter, Hicks speaks on the interphone, "Roger, Corrigan, you get weapons and suit up. Already on my way." He switches the device off and recounts last news to Ripley, "Thunders and Lee've chanced on Montero, even now she's being flown to the tech floor above military docks."

Ripley, "Good, then we need Bishop."

Hicks, "That's right," and calls the next number.

48.

Tech/Maintenance block, sector number 2.

People in the conference room begin to slowly get up, vacillant exchange of looks, the panic mounting up by degrees. Irene takes in unease around; someone starts calling, someone first shies away to the door, and right on cue all others jump up and disappear in the wake.

Irene runs up to Dylan, grabs him by the shoulders and drags along into the adjacent room where she digs out the familiar old laptop among other equipment. She hands it over to Dylan, "Take it, you earned the plaything by rights, thanks, Dylon!" She kisses him on the forehead, "Now get down to the docks, take any ship down to Earth."

"Irene, but what about?.."

"PDQ!" She pushes him towards the conference room entrance door, spins around, snaps up her phone from the desk and activates a call.

49.

Strut tunnel between Med/Science and Military blocks.

Having disconnected the phone line, Hicks draws near to Ripley, leaning against the commuter wall, rests his hands on the panelling just above her shoulders, "Listen..." But somebody calls him, Hicks picks up the phone and looking all the same fixedly at Ripley emphasises, "Dwayne Hicks."

Ripley stares back at him point-blank, Irene's voice is heard over the receiver, "Scare me witless, baby."

"Get equipped, down to the tech floor at the military's and prep us an autonomous radio com."

"Roger that, I'm on it."

Hicks pockets the device and puts his hand back onto the wall, "Ellen, if not for my... then for Newt's sake, please, take off to Earth, now."

Ripley bitterly smiles,"You know I'll stay."

He lowers his face while she, on the contrary, lifts hers up. The stubborn women who first off denied him and now is about to endanger her own life.

The commuter door whines open, other passengers leaving the shuttle. Hicks draws his hands from the wall, "All right, let's go dress up."

50.

Tech/Maintenance block, sector number 2.

Irene in alone in the empty conference room, she regards the table with four laptops on it, huge CODE 010 sign spread across each display. Irene proclaims to herself, "What a jim-dandy choice!" She quickly glances around all the computers, turns one sideways to examine its ports and slots, slams it shut and grabs under the armpit, "Thank you, I'll mail it back later." Irene runs out of the conference hall, the corridors are awash in panic waves rolling out of every direction to elevators.

51.

Throughout all the sectors, people in a hurry board accessible public ships, shuttles and spaceplanes; private lifeboats are fired up for the affluent station visitors. They detach themselves from the station like a bee hive and head for Earth. Turmoil and din inside and out at the Gateway.

52.

Military block, sector number 5.

A double hatch opens on the TECHNICAL SUB-FLOOR at the military decks, Lee and Thunders step out into the darkness of stretching in front of them endless expanse. There are echoes of tramping, rattling and other noises of the preparations clutter heard from the lower deck; humming of mechanisms and engines, powering horizontal inter-sector tunnel with the commuter, is heard from above.

Lee shivers, "Damn it, where did you bring me?"

Thunders gropes for the switchboard on the right of the double hatch and turns the dull lights on, playfully teasing, "But then nobody's gonna meddle in, babe."

The ceiling in the technical floor is three to four times lower than the regular docking deck height; the whole area reeks of desertion and despondence compared with the metallic shine and sterile whiteness of the rest of the station, some equipment and crates scattered randomly.

Lee inspects the deck and without looking at Thunders concludes, "I always knew you've got a thing for me."

"Yeah, Lee, consider this as we are having a family banquet! Okay, let's go and see what they left us for a hot meal."

Thunders and Lee make a cursory inspection of equipment and weapons strewn over the floor and hanging on the walls, he kicks some box in frustration, "Yup, not a lot."

53.

An hour and a half before the estimated arrival of the alien ship.

On the upper deck, the captain gives out orders, the next in the chain of commands military govern loading and boarding of the warships Sulaco and De Barral. Soldiers jog everywhere, armed up and fitted out in rigid armour; transporters and loaders convey various ordnance – all act in concert yet in a hurry.

54.

In the lobby on the first level, Corrigan and Delaware, corseted in BLACK TACTICAL ASSAULT VESTS, speechlessly pass by the racks with weapons, each slings the rifle over the shoulder. All the while silently passing by stands along with other military men, Delaware – quick and focused – rakes in more weapons and throws in a huge bag, which Corrigan keeps open. They bear down on the elevator and, mingled with the other military, get in.

55.

On the dimly illuminated technical floor, the elevator door opens, Irene comes out with a laptop and a cross-body bag and squints peering into the half-lit foyer, "Am I that late?"

Corrigan comes out from the other end of the floor and gestures, "Here. I've got your things."

Irene taps in his direction, looking around, "I was starting to suspect someone might have hankered after my artistic waistcoat and model shoes. What a frigging cheerful place you have here!"

56.

Ripley and Hicks walk out of the commuter alongside civilians, run down the level corridor, get into the elevator, where the majority is clad in military fatigues, and go down. Their destination is the familiar lobby at the military sector, Hicks pulls Ripley by the hand, they flurry past the weaponry holders, he grabs one of the black assault vests.

At the bank of the soldier personal lockers, Hicks checks several of them, "Someone of ours has beat us to it," and reaches for his locker.

Ripley takes off her jacket, there is a white top with halter neck and half-open back under it.

Hicks shakes his head and gesticulates to put the jacket back on, "It'll chafe your back."

"You have a tee-shirt, don't you." Rather a statement than a question.

He takes out a package with a sand-coloured article. Ripley, standing tall between him and the lockers, quickly and well-nigh showy slips off her top, pulls on the tee and tucks it into the trousers. Hicks casts a chilly gaze at her, looks around and shields Ripley from the infantrymen, skirring left and right. Then he puts the tactical assault vest on her, holster patch pocket and bandoleer straps at the front, sides and belt. Hicks swiftly and dexterously fastens zipper and snap buckles, adjusts shoulder velcro strips and side tension straps, "Doesn't pinch? Can you still breathe?"

She nods and watches him work, pulls down and flattens out the body armour, raises the arms aside so as not to interfere.

Hicks winds up the fixing of Ripley's vest, "Right, will smarten it up later." He throws on without fastening his own vest, snatches a backpack from the locker, shows the course to move on.

Treading in footsteps of Corrigan and Delaware, they also hang themselves with rifles and dump other weapons in the backpack, which Hicks throws over his shoulder suspending by one hand. The elevator buzzes down, Ripley and Hicks sneak next to the back wall. With the military starting to exit the cabin on the upper docking deck, Ripley shifts forwards, but before she even takes a step, Hicks halts her, clutching by the shoulders and pulling back. He presses a button on the elevator panel, and the car moves one floor up in the opposite direction.

57.

A little more than an hour to the arrival of the alien ship.

The upper deck of the military docks grows empty, remaining military hastily disperse towards two opposite-placed airlock walkways. There are commands to hurry up heard, the double hatches slide and dovetail tightly shut on the deck.

58.

On the tech floor at the docking sub-level, Ripley shivers and puzzles over why Thunders moored the ship here. Hicks explains to her that, although colonial marines formally do not obey the command from Earth without ECA permission, no one gave them the licence to pirate station ships.

Ripley and Hicks wade the gloomy and littered floor approaching the other end, where the rest group gathered beside the open airlock. Irene, still in her civil clothes, is stationed in front of the laptop and busy with headset radio transceivers. Delaware and Corrigan, already equipped, have laid out and sort through munitions on a long rusty crate.

Delaware has the flight suit's top tied around her hips by sleeves, that from behind looks like a skirt, on the back of her assault vest the inscription says 'Only me above the stars', her hands are fingerless-gloved.

Thunders wears the similar glove only on the right hand. He re-arranges his outfit to reflect his co-pilot's appearance, fixes black tactical vest and skilfully distributes ammunition over pockets, belts and loops; takes one of the rifles, checks and loads it.

Lee has changed to combat khaki pants and a kimono-style wrap-up top with short sleeves and braids her crown ponytail, securing it all along with elastic bands.

Hicks and Ripley come up to Irene.

Irene unaffectedly salutes to Hicks, "Channel duplex at 265's, no one will hear us."

Hicks points to the pile of cords, headsets and transceiver modules to the left of Irene's laptop, “Are these firm-wired already?"

Irene nods in confirmation and motions welcoming; Hicks collects two sets and hangs one around Ripley's neck, hiding the radio in her belt pocket and velcroing the cord in the vest's side flap.

Corrigan nears and lays down the black vest and combat boots on the crate nigh the laptop, "Your prom dress, hun," and notices Ripley, "you should have flown away, Ellen."

"I prefer to stay for a while." A transitory smile augmented by all the world's confidence in her tone.

The others turn to the sound of her voice – Delaware, Thunders and Lee – and exchange glances.

Thunder smirks to Hicks, pointing at the backpack, "Ooh! Have you pillaged the sex shop, too?"

Hicks tugs at Ripley's forearm to draw near to the long container where the weapons are sorted out. He passes the bag to Thunders, "Some stuff from the showcase." The contents of the backpack are poured out on the crate.

While Hicks is shoving magazines and grenades into Ripley's pockets, Irene and Corrigan come up, “Headsets are all ready.”

Thunders paces towards the laptop. Corrigan fills a syringe from a couple of phials. Irene, already equipped with vest and boots, and Lee simultaneously and as quickly as men, load their body armours and weapons, Ripley observes the synchronicity of their moves.

Hicks takes Ripley's hand and as a formality places it over her chest, "Here are five magazines for M41A, here and here again," leads her hand sideways, "there are twenty M15 grenades, less severe than M40, but if you want to set something on fire..."

As he explains the distribution of ammunition over Ripley's vest, Corrigan interrupts and addresses Ripley, "Give me your left," and injects the contents of the syringe into her vein.

"What's this for?"

"Glucose and vitamins, all I can indulge you right now," and flexes her arm firm at the elbow, "hold for five minutes."

"Now feel for yourself, so that you get used to it," Hicks calls for Ripley's attention back and motions towards her assault vest. She fumbles for pockets and pouches, as the same time he starts loading himself. There is no space for drawings on the front, but he has a rough picture of the locked heart and inscription 'yet to come' on his vest's back.

Ripley runs her right hand over a relatively sizeable pouch on the left under her breast, "This is empty."

"The holster for a sidearm. I don't think you'll need this," Hicks shrugs.

Ripley takes a gun from the crate, "Is this good?"

Hicks removes the magazine, checks the pistol, inserts the storage back, "Quite.”

Ripley pockets the pistol into her holster.

Hicks fixes her fastening again, points to the other end of the crate, "Magazines for it."

Ripley takes two magazines for the gun, Hicks follows her with his eyes. She eyes the others.

On the back of Lee's vest, there are two hearts, connected by a plus sign, in which 'Lee' and 'Ski' are written. Below them is an image of a rose with a cobra above it, poison dripping from the tooth, and the inscription 'Death flower'. On the Corrigan's back is a heartbeat strip and a signature 'Go the line'. Thunders has a drawing of a lightning bolt on his back.

59.

A remote reverberation of the opening elevator door makes all the heads turn. Irene tries to descry at least something in the murk, as Corrigan rolls up the sleeves of her office blouse and fixes them with black elastic elbow brace wraps. Irene wears the same wide trousers from the business costume which she was in at the hearing; the cuffs of her trousers are hidden in the boots and knee brace straps shirr the wide legs. 'I am peace, love and bliss' is outlined on the back of her vest in white, whereas all the pockets and pouches on her front are randomly stippled in every colour imaginable.

Bishop appears in the dim light, "Sorry if I made you wait. Evacuation caused a lot of panic."

Ripley assuages him, "It's all right, Bishop, you're just in time."

A hollow metallic thud emanates from below, Delaware and Thunders exchange the glances.

Thunders comments, “Sounds like the gangway hit the North dock, still deployed."

Delaware whispers under breath, “Dumb amateurs.”

The other pilot summarises, “Anyways, the destroyers weighed anchors.”

Hicks turns to Thunders, "Right, take us out too, baby."

The group seizes the bags with the extra weapons on the go and sprints through the open internal hatch in the space-bridge tunnel to the Montero. 

60.

Aboard the Montero.

Thunders takes the pilot's seat, a low vibrating hum of revving engines is heard throughout the spacecraft. Bishop sits down nearby in the navigator's chair, as Delaware drives up another chair between them on floor rails and parks herself next to Bishop. He shows her something on the dashboard, Delaware nods. The rest of the motley team also take their seats, immediately behind the bulkhead in the passenger compartment, swivelling the chairs to face each other and strapping in.

Ripley rationalises, "So, the plan is, we destroy the samples in the seventh sector, fly back and rendezvous and perhaps dock to one of the destroyers.”

Hicks notes, "Sounds good, but we gotta count in a possible whole new ball game and would go off at a tangent under the circumstances."

Irene ironically exclaims, "That's what I love about plans!"

Lee wryly grins, Thunders' voice announces over speakers, "The airlock is sealed, gangway's being retracted."

Ripley motions to Irene, "Fashionable vest."

"You like it? I did it myself!" Irene doesn't sniff at the chance to boast.

Lee ventures a remark, "The chit's flattered herself. In truth, it was supposed to be 'I'm plague, sore and pain in the ass' on her back.”

Irene resents, "Hey!"

Ripley wonders to Irene, "Is body armour dealt out freely to all IT-people here?"

"Only to those who have been kicked out of the Marines," Lee supplies helpfully.

Hicks adds on with a wily smirk, "They decided two Hudsons in the colonial marines was an overkill."

Corrigan draws the bottom line at mocking, "And it was pretty much the one and only their right decision."

The chatter blocks off, as sharply as it came to pass, on the recent memories. A light jerk over the ship is followed by Thunders' voice in the headphones, informing about the launch.

The cargo and passenger shuttle Montero plunges from the platform of the military dock and, turning around, flies in the opposite direction from Earth. On her port side, there are the alien ship and hanging close to the Gateway military destroyers the Sulaco and De Barral.

An hour to the arrival of the alien ship.

61.

Everyone but the pilots is unbuckled and jammed in the tiny cockpit at the control panels of the ship. The FALSE CONSOLE shines open.

Bishop demonstrates to Delaware how to actuate the emitter, "I don't know the radius of its operation, but the last time the ship was about 2000-2500 metres away from the station at the time of her transition."

There is a SPHERICAL COORDINATE GRID with the star map and located blip images for the known objects – station, warships, beacons – and an obscure and unstable spot for the alien ship are visible on the navigator's screen.

Delaware watches Bishop's manipulations and scrutinises the electronic map alternatively, "Well, God-speed."

Bishop presses a series of buttons on the false panel, then the last one labelled 'Enable', and all the previously seen object images vanish from the map, instead a certain new one appears there. Thunders manoeuvres the ship to turns her bow in the direction where the Gateway used to be.

Irene utters in awe, "Welcome to the twilight zone."

Against the background of peaceful Earth, there is the lone notorious SECTOR D7. The Montero approaches it while the crew observes in fascination the increasing image of the sector D7 in the viewport.

Bishop points to the cockpit window, "That superstructure on the right, probably, bears the block's emitter which simultaneously attaches the seventh sector to the new antenna in our space plane.”

Ripley mutters, "This all is so creepy and astounding."

Hicks addresses Thunders, "Give us a circle around the block."

They spot another cargo shuttle moored on the second docking deck at the southern side.

Ripley in surprise, "They have another ship."

Circling the block, they notice that both platforms of the first deck are vacant. There are lights on in a multitude of portholes over the sector. The ANNULAR EMITTING SUPERSTRUCTURE is affixed to the block flatways at the area of the first sector level.

Corrigan notes, "Bar that contraption it looks ordinary."

Thunders agrees, "Okay, coming to anchor," and guides the ship towards the South platform on the first docking deck.

62.

Private block, sector number 7.

The airlock's cross gate opens. The Montero team quietly and neatly, guns ready and lined in two ranks, led by Hicks and Corrigan, go out onto the upper deck of the docking level. Upon the entrance, they split up to the opposite sides and occupy positions near the internal hatch: Hicks Ripley, the pilots and Bishop are on the left; Corrigan, Irene and Lee on the right. Thunders seals the airlock. Both groups gingerly move along the walls and look around.

The deck is completely void of others' presence, however, there are no signs of disorder or damage, silence everywhere, the lighting is regular. As the Hicks' group advances along the left wall, suddenly Ripley's gaze falls upon the deck viewscreen, hanging on the opposite side:

"What is this?"

Hicks in low voice and via the headset, "Irene, look up to your right."

Irene moves away from the opposite wall, raises her head on the monitor and unfolds a mini-portable computer from her vest. The inscription on the sector display reads 'Registration is not completed. Elapsed time is 5 h 26 min (and counting up figures) sec. Please, register immediately'.

63.

Outer space boasts an incredible view of the star field and the alien spacecraft, hanging in the distance. Against their background, a destroyer flies by, the dark grey and opaque inscription on her hull tells it's the De Barral.

Aboard at the bridge, the captain is peering into the viewscreen and front windows. He is informed that the alien ship stays on adrift and its estimated time of arrival to and imminent collision with the Gateway is 45 minutes if the unidentified vessel doesn't change the course.

The captain turns to one of the crew sitting in front of the consoles, "Do they respond?"

"They ignore our signals, but keep broadcasting their own transmission."

"Can you decipher it?" the captain enquires.

"No, we cannot even record it in full. They change the range, amplitude and modulate it all the time, we can trace it but cannot hold it on for longer than twelve seconds."

"Damn, try that segment, lieutenant!"

"Yes, Sir!"

At once, the instrumentation and screens on the De Barral dashboard go out of kilter through a burst of static and interference.

"What the hell is that?" the captain yells.

The wave of disturbance and distortions continues until the alien ship disappears without a trace as if it has never manifested itself against the starry field. For three long seconds, the crew remains frozen in a stupor. Eventually, the instrumentation comes back into service.

The captain first breaks the silence, "Two crews, three hundred streams onward, maintain the manoeuvre operations according to the plan of the orbital security drill."

"Affirmative, Sir. Three hundred streams onward."

64.

Private block, sector number 7.

In the southern dock hallway on the first deck, Irene swirls left and right, takes a step to and fro with fixated on a mini-laptop, unfurled from the threefold velcro-fastening case, "What the heck is that? I can't see the network. There is no coverage!"

Corrigan allays her tumult, "Keep calm. Maybe, it wasn't meant to be in this locality."

The counter on the screen inaudibly strikes exactly '5:30:00', a siren wails out over the whole block and a female mechanical voice impassively announces,"Registration is not complete. Supervisors for the levels – first, second, third, fourth, fifth – need to register immediately."

The team exchange glances with each other while the automated voice reiterates the warning two more times.

Thunders passes a remark, "Thus, the whole fucking explanation has cropped up."

The group falter in their tracks for a few seconds, the realisation of local hot water sinking in. Hicks makes a sign, “Come on”, and they converge in the centre of the empty spacious deck.

Ripley enunciates, "So, all the five levels didn't respond."

Delaware shrinks mentally, "Just don't say that what happening here is what I think is happening."

"If confirmed, we'll blow up the reactor and leave in the ship," Hicks propounds.

The siren quits wailing and somewhere from above comes a hissing sound. Of the very familiar kind.

Ripley startles and gestures, "Quiet."

Everyone listens closely, turns to face the stairs and train their weapons on them.

Almost synchronously, out of both central spiral staircases are manifested black shiny extended corrugated heads with bared mouths, slime hanging down and dripping. Graceful, crawling down on all four limbs, with erect dorsal tubes and interlacing of pipes and bones on the chests, protruding shoulder arches, six-fingered arms and long, powerful segmental serrated tails with sharp tips.

An enormous and seemingly endless horde of the ALIENS. The crew recede, yank the rifles up and at the ready, aim, as –

65.

A subsonic shock wave instantly radiates across the deck. The view of everything around seems to bifurcate, it resonates, all shapes and lines trying to come together into initial solid pictures. Simultaneously and in the blink of an eye, two ghosting trains rush by: the brown and greyish pink one originates at the side across the airlock through which the team came onto the deck, the second brown and black transparent streak stretches from the stairs.

Ripley clutches at her head. When dizziness abates and people come to their senses, they in horror discover Irene in front of them in midair, half a metre above the ground, dangling from the arms of the immobile Alien.

Behind are two lofty skin-colour-changing CREATURES; brown bumps and welts weathering, melting and disappearing on their otherwise greyish-pink skin.

66.

The Alien, holding Irene, stays one step away from the group.

His spike-tipped elbows are spread aside and hands are thrown over Irene's shoulders, he holds her under arms; his head with a half-opened mouth, inclined to the main group, is over Irene's head; long legs are slightly bent at knees and one leg placed a step backwards; longitudinal latticed oval muscle segments are clearly visible on the arms and legs; four fronts toes on strong feet and two separate heel toes; heavy tail slowly coils into a helix and unfolds in the air on the side, keeping equilibrium of his pose with the human under his arm.

There is overwhelming silence, only the echoes of operating ventilation system are heard. The group are struck dumb by the sight of the Alien and Irene. Her face shows how tense and frightened she is, but her gaze is riveted only to Corrigan. She barely restrains herself so as not to burst into tears and scream.

Hicks in a low tone commands to everyone else, "Don't shoot."

The two creatures, towering behind the Alien with Irene, bear remote vestiges of resemblance to something seen before. They are about two times and a half as high as humans; the transformation process on their skin has come to end, and now it is possible to examine their all but smooth bodies, everywhere and entirely covered with tint-darker mountbatten pink asymmetric stains and scars of varying lengths, curvatures and thicknesses.

Ash falls and dust settles down all over the opposite part of the deck and the lower tiers of the staircases, where the Aliens were creeping down a moment ago.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art is not mine, actually, it's slapped together out of two images, and if you know someone who owns it or if it's yours I will readily credit you, just drop me a line. I love it and in my impression, it very accurately represents what the Space Jockeys may look like (if you scrape out the latest fads about suits and sizing them down). The only detail I would add - if I might - is the tail. Seems I've got a soft spot for creatures with tails :-)


	4. RELEVATIONS AND AGREEMENT

67.

Private block, sector number 7.

"Put the weapons down," finally Ripley finds her voice. "Slowly," and she lowers her rifle with the barrels facing down.

Everyone trades glances and follows her example as silent as the grave.

The Alien cranes his neck bowing the head forward, stoops with a hiss and puts Irene back on her feet likewise inchmeal. She teeters onwards, Corrigan immediately pulls her upright and close, and Hicks hides them behind his back. The Alien with his half-bent knees sidles away step by step from people, nearing the two newcomers. When he lines up on them, the creature on the right sharply swirls the face towards the Alien, and there and then Alien-shaped ashes, suspended in the air for a brief moment, start flowing down to the deck floor.

There is a black-and-brown shiny bone-like process evident on the left creature's arm, between the palm and crook of his elbow, stretched out to where the Alien's once stood. The outgrowth slides under the skin, the wound heals forthwith and cicatrises; soon afterwards the fresh scar turns into one of the numerous spots on the creature's body. The newcomer very slowly shifts to face people and lowers his hand.

68.

The two creatures almost freeze, their deliberate movements are fluid and wavelike as if they are deep-sea divers at the bottom of an ocean; smooth hairless heads with elongated skulls, deep eyes on either side of the face, holes for the nose and mouth, lofty lanky bodies, six-fingered hands, long digitigrade legs bent at knees and ankles, and tails.

The human group regard the creatures speechlessly and holding their breaths. The extraterrestrials stand motionless in front of people, sometimes only slightly tilting and turning their heads.

Ripley peers into their faces and quietly whispers, "Space Jockeys."

The left Jockey, as if having heard her, flowingly extends his left arm – palm up – in Ripley's direction. Hicks observes their inexplicable interaction. Ripley cautiously steps forward, Hicks follows her. The Jockey steadily pulls down and holds out his left hand even closer. Ripley gives heed to dusty Aliens residues behind the Jockeys' backs, then reassuringly glances again at compeers and reaches out with her open palm in response to Jockey's invitation.

He gently positions his gigantic hand under Ripley's and touches the back of her hand with his palm. Above their hands, a vague PROJECTION appears in the air: an archive photo of Ripley on the Nostromo which is replaced by her image from the Sulaco.

The humanoid and terrestrial woman stand still for a few seconds, his countenance is imperceptible. With a flourish, the Jockey pulls out a dark, wriggling, merely dozen-hair thin appendage around twenty centimetres long, from behind the back of his neck. Brought in contact with Ripley's arm the live tendril draws out into an acute needle ray.

69.

Hicks warily steps forward, removes Ripley's hand and, looking up at the Jockey, stretches out his own arm instead. Both Jockeys notice Hicks' move. The right creature reaches out and cups the side of Hicks' head, unhurriedly retracts the hand, unfolding the palm upwards.

A series of molecules, chromosome cross-threads and DNA double-helices are projected into the air. Within a short while the scattered objects zoom out and a noticeably apparent embryo appears. It begins to increase, gradually grows, transforms into a tadpole with a tail; the tail disappears and the head decreases with respect to the body; other sequences show the process of human embryo formation, it metamorphoses up to the point of the ready fetus. What manifests afterwards is that this is a boy. The baby grows, his appearance drastically changes and it becomes clear that he has got dark eyes and dark curly hair like Ripley's, but the shape of eyes and cleft on his lower lip like Hicks'.

“Here go spoilers,” Thunders first ventures to remark, in a low tone. Others in the team slightly shift to acknowledge his comment, but nobody else speaks up.

Ripley takes a look at Hicks while he reciprocates and concentrates back on the image aloft. One thing is to reckon it an intangible nuisance, and it feels completely different when you grasp the whole impression of what it may become.

The projection plays backwards as though a movie rewound to the stage of chromosomes and DNA spirals which in turn also keep breaking down to even lesser elements.

70.

The Jockeys immovably linger on pondering over the three-dimensional image of minuscule particles that rotate at different angles and perspectives as –

The ominous sibilating sound effuses from the stairs over again, ensured by crouching and crawling Aliens that creep down onto the deck floor. However, the Jockeys take no action about unsolicited guests, standing with their backs on Aliens and fixedly examining the intra-molecular connections of human tissue.

Delaware spills out the overall team concern, "Don't they see them?"

Corrigan and Thunders tighten their grip on the rifles, yet right before they level the guns up Hicks admonishes quietly:

"Ease down, nice and easy. Don't fire."

On the far side of the deck, the throng of Aliens stand up to their feet, stretch out, straighten up; they are half as tall as the Jockeys. Ripley treads forward sharply to the left Jockey standing in front of her. The hanging in the air projection disappears next moment. In the blink of an eye, the right Jockey rounds-up on the Aliens and inclines his face towards them. The biomechanical intruders plump down onto all fours with a screech and hiss, as if under the gust of a strong wind, abruptly creep away and still continue to backpedal.

The second horizontal shock wave blows through the block, from the Jockeys across to the opposite wall, all at once. The monsters' hissing and creaking cuts short, the ash and dust falling to the ground in their place.

Irene grabs her head and moans, "Someone tell them to quit doing that."

The long wisplike ray, held by the left Jockey, dives under the skin of Hicks' left arm. He winces and twitches from pain and consequently rubs the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder, the neck. Jockey's mammoth palm instantaneously lands on the back of Hicks' neck. He lays his palm over Jockey's hand, straightens up and, as soon as the rest manage to take to heart the worrisome phenomenon, Hicks gestures “It's all right”. He sighs freely and eyes the both Jockeys in turns with an unspoken question.

The right Jockey puts his hand under Hicks' and like it used to be the picture of two Jockeys standing before the group projects into the air. The Jockey takes away his hand, still, the image sustains hanging over Hicks' hand. He looks around at Ripley and fellow Marines, but the picture evaporates. The Jockey once more handles the man's arm and neck, this time there appears the image of Alien above Hicks' hand. The extraterrestrial withdraws his limb and the projection remains to hover in the air.

Corrigan suggests behind Hicks' back in low voice, "Don't get distracted and keep your eyes on it."

Delaware exhales in awe, "This's incredible."

71.

Ripley looks away from the picture above Hicks' hand and extends her arm to the Jockeys, too. The left creature draws another squirming needle out of himself, only this time the Jockey's palm is on the human neck even before the needle hides under the skin. Ripley rotates her hand up with the spot where she contacted the skin of the Jockey's hand; there is a wet opaque smear like an achromatic ointment or a thin layer of mucus on the back of her palm. She seems musing over something inwardly. The Jockey takes his hand off Ripley's neck, she gazes up peering at both Jockeys alternatively.

In the space between extraterrestrials and humans comes forth the projection of Alien. Jockeys watch it and next to the image of Alien appears the picture of Jockey. What follows is, the Alien's ebony dark hide and exoskeletal segments seem to stretch, tear off and adhere to the Jockey's skin, envelop him head to toe and lengthen his scalp.

"So, these are their rags?" Lee reflects in dislike.

Hovering aloft, the projection of the Alien-clad Jockey is shown from different angles and replaced by the picture of the suited Jockey jumping out of the expanding wound-like hatch on their ship into the open space.

Delaware mutters in surprise, "It cannot be that simple."

Ripley exchanges a glance with Hicks, "Are the nightmares really just costumes?"

Hicks nods, "Yeah, seems like that."

Bishop adds, "Magnificently robust technology."

Thunders ironically scorns, "That's brill. Turns out deadly critters are their protective and space suits, just like this."

Irene at last voices out her after-Alien distress, "One easy on the eyes wardrobe! Why wouldn't they pack their duds and go home?"

Corrigan wonders, "Was the hole in the Acheron pilot's chest also a part of design?"

Ripley raises her eyes. The picture of Jockey pilot's remains appear lying in the control chair; the corpse has got the apparent grotesque hole with the ribs bent outwardly on his chest.

72.

The Jockeys study the image of their long-dead pilot. It becomes more detailed and distinct highlighting convexities and bends on the 'telescope' and the chair. The image brightens, the floor with radially diverging and transversally intersecting ridges, the bottom of the chair and the 'telescope' gain on metallic shimmer.

The pilot's skeleton accretes flesh and skin, turns greyish pink. Something yellow flashes into his chest and the ribs close in no time. Pink and grey overlong digits around the pilot's middle are drawn back into the trunk-like hose which turns into facehugger's tail, stretched down from pilot's face along the chest and abdomen. The digits and leathery flaps of the underdeveloped body of the facehugger disappear depressed into the scars on the pilot's face. Ultimately, one can see a Jockey immersed in the pilot's seat so that the lower part of his body is out of sight.

Irene passes a note, "The reverse playback."

In the projection, all the spacecraft insides quake like from a strong impact. The following scene shows the horseshoe-shaped asymmetrical alien ship speeding away from the planetoid – the image of Acheron diminishing in its background – until it remains solitary against the background of stars.

Thunders brisks up, "Hold on there, pause it."

"It's not us, they're demoing now," Hicks makes a note.

Thunders demands nevertheless, "Here, back on that picture of the star field, show their ship anywhere, from below or above."

The image blurs and almost vanishes.

"Damn, I don't remember the whole arrangement of these stars, “ Ripley mildly chafes. “Why, Thunders?"

"Where are they from?" There is no repose for an inquisitive mind.

The starry sky picture clears up, the stars change round relative to each other. Some go beyond the edge of the image, new ones come into view until eventually the alien vessel starts to increase against the background of a misty blue planet with five visible satellites.

Thunders seeks Delaware's idea, "What'd you say?"

"Hard to tell from that point of reference. Safe to say it's far beyond the outer rim," she intones uncertainly.

Bishop picks up the lead, "Provided that it's an uncharted space, I'm afraid with our technology human life will not be enough to reach them, even in the latent life condition."

Ripley chimes in, "Now, let's go over the suits once again if, as implied, they are used for protection."

Up above pops up the projection of the fitted out Jockey.

Ripley carries on, "How come this thing emerged?"

Next to the suited Jockey image appears a faint figure of the Acheron pilot whose chest bursts open because of the Alien. The picture of the chestburster zooms in, grows obscure and fades away. In lieu, the image of the facehugger comes to sight and splits into two unequal parts. On the left, one can see the external covering and soft tissues; on the right, there is a transparent body with a clear-cut outline of the skeleton and black tendrils everywhere inside the rigid tissues of the facehugger.

Ripley feels and rubs her neck from behind.

Some hieroglyphic formulae appear under both the left and right facehugger anatomic images, however, they are radically differing from each other.

Ripley shakes her head, "If only we could read this."

Bishop taciturnly suggests, "I believe on the left is the organic component of the sample and its inorganic part is on the right."

The left picture dissolves and only the inorganic right-hand facehugger half remains. A series of formulae builds up successively underneath, aligned into several columns, from top to bottom. In the fourth column the middle symbol is suddenly highlighted in white, and the rolling out of the formulaic range ceases.

The similar semi-transparent inorganic image of the facehugger appears next to the first one, on the left. In the same fashion, columns of formulae are formed under it, however, when the fourth array reaches the highlighted symbol, it stays the same black like other hieroglyphs. The new rows keep rolling down yet the previous data lines start to collapse and eventually the whole formulaic table disintegrates.

Next thing, the right-hand facehugger is shown to jump onto a Jockey's face and his transformation into the suited frame unfolds; while in parallel the left facehugger launches to the face of another Jockey, a chestburster escapes from his breast and kills the host.

Ripley shudders and takes a step back.

73.

Corrigan wrinkles his forehead in disbelief, "Did they create them on purpose?"

Ripley shrugs, “Unknown. Is so, then what for?”

Hicks offers, "Can't call up all these signs, but if I try this?"

A sketchy and hazy image of the three columns is drawn, and at the time of building the fourth array Jockey's hand covers the highlighted white symbol; the image freezes. A similar representation is sketched alongside, only the hand falls on the black symbol in the fourth column and the rows start to crumble; the image freezes, as well.

The extraterrestrials contemplate the rough projections which evanesce in a few seconds. One clear detailed picture replaces them. At the moment of constructing the fourth column, the process slows down and one can see the familiar character beginning to form. Next to it, symbol comes out already and only now Jockey hand touches the prior sign. Nonetheless, the key symbol bears on black and the process of the destruction of formulaic arrays ensures.

Ripley whispers a conjecture, "He was too late."

Irene spins into resentment, "Was late? What kind of a sloppy species are they swinging such techno..."

A few 'Shh' in her direction render Irene silent.

Hicks poses a doubt, "All right, what about us now?"

In the air looms the projection of medical laboratory scene with two dead bodies whose spines are partially ripped out. The Jockeys peruse the picture with great interest.

Ripley swivels her head to the group behind, "It happened today just as we get to the lab. They had much the same black needles in their backs."

the group disapprovingly whispered.

Thunders whistles, "Oh my fucking god."

Irene ironises, "Pretty little gifts!"

The new visuals overhead demonstrate the derelict alien ship on LV-426. Against its background, two human figures in hazmat suits and helmets walk into the sight; near two gargantuan 'Aliens' land down in one leap, two to three times taller than humans and of a rather stocky build. People in the projection bid retreat trying to escape, aim the weapons, but two huge figures sharply overtake them; guns are let flying out of men's hands, although 'Aliens' do not even put a finger on them. Invaders procure one by one two wriggling 'needles', and they delve under the coveralls of both humans. People convulse and fall unconscious. 'Aliens' linger over motionless men for a while longer; there are hardly distinguishable, ephemeral trails rippling from two people upwards. The planetoid shrinks in size and drifts away as it is evident that both trains reach the Jockeys' ship floating in orbit.

Hicks offers, "They had them for live transmitters. Not much about walking."

Puzzled, Ripley gazes at him, “Yet we are conscious.”

Hicks nods and looks up. The rough image above shows him falling prone, the backbone rending from behind. Ripley flinches, the crew at her rear indistinctly bumbles in dismay. The Jockeys regard the image and it's superseded with visuals of both Ripley and Hicks whose necks have the extraterrestrials' palms on them. The position of Jockey's hand on the human neck is accentuated once more separately in magnified fashion, and then the couple of Ripley and Hicks is shown without Jockeys alone.

Ripley trade glances with Hicks again, “Guess we've undergone fine-tuning, whatever you call it.”

Up in the air, Earth comes into the couples' background and increases under and behind them. After a brief pause, the embryo is placed between them; it grows, develops, and eventually one can see a boy's face with the features of both.

74.

Ripley averts her eyes from the projection, Hicks notices her move and changes the topic:

"What'd they know about Earth?"

From the previous image, there is only the planet left against which Alien is outlined. The Jockeys take a look for a second and the Alien's figure disappears from the Earth backdrop.

Corrigan specifies, "Do they mean the Earth is not infected?"

Hicks, "That's like they air it."

The view of Earth is replaced by the picture of the lonely block D7 and now Alien is evinced in front of it. The representation suspends for a moment before the sector zooms in, approaching and engulfing the onlooker, to the degree when one can see the cross-section of block's levels, starting from the dock where people and Jockeys are standing now. The Station descends taking the viewer higher up to the empty first level, chaotically scattered things and equipment all around. The succeeding second level shows a gruesome panorama of wreathed with foreign outgrowths rooms, semicircular passageways and silhouettes of stirring Aliens there.

Ripley turns to Hicks, "Can you feel, see them, too?"

He looks first at her and then as though deep down inside himself and slightly nods.

75.

As a bolt from the blue, on the lower part of the left Jockey's face begin to materialise distinctly visible contours of facehugger, only the tail is not coiled around the neck but clings down along his body.

Bewildered team gasp for air and totter a step back.

The swelling welts on the Jockey's body darken, stratify in layers on and on, grow all over him like tentacles and tubes while lattice-metallic plates emerge in spaces between the tubes, embracing the whole body and closing on Jockey's back. Arms and legs of the suit seem to telescopically elongate and unfold enveloping all the limbs and tail. The head elongates in front and behind into ellipsoidal helmet. The last stage brings on heel thorns, elbow spikes, dorsal pipes and shoulder arches until the Jockey turns into a larger and more powerful version of Alien.

Delaware comments with awed expression, "Kind of goth."

Up above beams the image of the group heading for the airlock to Montero and the medium-sized passenger and cargo spacecraft departing from block D7. Following scene depicts two Alien-clad Jockeys who pulverise all five levels with maintenance zones of the Station sector into cosmic dust.

Ripley exclaims in protest, "No! There are still people up there," and gazes in hope at Hicks.

“Yeah, still somebody clean and kicking in there,” he confirms and in the air appears the unsteady picture of three figures huddled against the background of sector levels.

After Jockeys' review, the visuals gain more detailed layout: there are two figures somewhere by the northern wall in the high-ceilinged hall of the first seven-storey level; another figure at the south, farther to Earth, wall of the second ten-storey level.

The images become even cleaner. Now the corridor on the fifth floor of the first level is projected, things and tools dropped indiscriminately. The other picture gives an overview for the third floor on the second level: well-recognized and salient cellular outgrowths on the walls, forming round or oval in the cross-section passageways; in niches, the monster are snuck, organically reflecting the surroundings, immobile and barely discernible in the ambient background.

76.

"They need to get rescued out of there," Corrigan thinks aloud what the others in the team have on their minds.

Ripley and Hicks turn to Corrigan with slight nods of consent, the rest of the group also stares at him, though less enthusiastic.

Ripley about-faces to the Jockeys again. The pictures atop gets altered: suited jockeys in the open space on their way to the arcuate spaceship; the team take other three figures away and the Montero pulls out of the sector; the block explodes, fire absorbs everything and dies out; the tranquil star-sprinkled space as an end result.

The Jockeys ruminate on the image of the sector D7 blowing up and play it back time and again.

Thunders frets about the delay, "Come on, tell them anything else in back-up.”

Suddenly, Bishop treads forward extending his hand towards the Jockeys. The creatures hastily switch their attention to him, and the right, undressed Jockey touches Bishop's cheek. The picture of Bishop's anatomy unrolls in the air, the Jockeys examine and rotate it at different angles, zoom in and out.

Hicks reflects, "You real piqued their curiosity, Bishop.”

Irene adds with a tense chortle, “Now they're gonna get stuck for picking Bishop apart for the next half-hour."

The sketch of alien ship partially overlaps the image of Bishop's innards. The Jockeys seem considering it for a few moments, in response they wipe both pictures off and advertise the image of Jockeys with Bishop in the middle between them against the backdrop of their vessel.

Ripley shakes her head disconcerted and explains to the synthetic, "Sorry, Bishop, that's not what I meant."

"It's okay, I believe it will be an opportune turnaround for me to learn about them as well," he replies with a short-lived smile.

Ripley wags her head in agreement to Bishop and lifts her face up to the extraterrestrials. The visuals of the three figures leaving for the Jockeys' ship repeat itself. Then are replaced by the picture of Bishop swathed up with Alien suit. The right Jockey poisedly takes a liquid step back holding out his hand towards Bishop, beckoning. The synthetic comes forward casting a chary glance at Ripley.

She starts closing the distance between, "Listen, Bishop, you don't have..."

"I'm fine, Ellen," he literally points out with his eyes to the huge 'Alien' figure towering over him which is the suited left Jockey, essentially the same height as Alien Queen, "some bad memories, though." He smiles unhappily, "I'm honoured to know you."

The left Jockey tears off the facehugger flesh bulging up on his shoulder, tail stretched and coming off along the backside of his arm right down to the elbow. The wound on his arm immediately begins to tighten and cicatrises while the Jockey places the facehugger onto Bishop's face. All along the android's form Alien suit fans out – a human figure clothed in flexible metal, tubes, latticework and spikes, a bit extended head, and copped short non-functional tail.

Bishop arches out, his hands tense; the right Jockey like with Ripley and Hicks puts the palm on android's neck under the back of his head and transformation ends up more smoothly, Bishop hesitantly gestures 'Okay' to people. The Jockeys gracefully turn around to the partition wall harbouring the northern airlock behind, the one they dramatically slipstreamed through onto the deck. On the skin of the right Jockey's face, the scars turn crimson brown outlining the contours of facehugger's frame. Mere a few seconds to elapse, and the seemingly benevolent creatures will be gone, most likely for good.

Ripley suddenly stretches the arm up in the right Jockey's direction. The changeover halts as it is, he freezes, too, then bends onwards and angles the face to her arm. The fellow Marines exchange looks in a lack of understanding and watch Ripley. She pulls her hand even lower until Ripley touches his cheek with hers.

People look up in search of a projection, but there are no pictures in the air this time; Hicks cants the head to Ripley's side as if trying to eavesdrop.

77.

Ripley, leaning her cheek against the Jockey's cheek, stares somewhere indefinitely into the distance, her facial expression sedate and positive.

Catching the group off guard, the siren bawls throughout the block and female mechanical voice aggravatingly reminds, "Registration is not complete. Supervisors for the levels – first, second, third, fourth, fifth – need to register immediately." And the counter on the screen rounds off to '5:45:00'.

Ripley shudders, losing the contact. The Jockey slowly straightens up and resumes suiting as people again uncomfortably exchange glances. Ripley glides the hand across the side of her face where she touched the Jockey's cheek, inspects her hand daubed in slime, then glances back at the transforming Jockey, as though struggling to remember or grasp something that she already knew.

Alien-clothed Bishop waves goodbye, the left Jockey easily grabs Bishop under his arm like a stuffed doll. Another subsonic shock wave sweeps over the deck, this time low-power. Both Jockeys turn into dark ghostly streaks shooting through the partition deck wall, opposite to the northern airlock. The sectoral alert system repeats the warning of registration again.

Irene puts one hand on her head clutching with the other onto Corrigan, "Shit, they couldn't even split without their shenanigans."

Ripley accentuates to Hicks, “We may be able to control these suits, too."

He peers into Ripley's face for a bit and lifts his face upward the higher levels, "You're right." Then he sharply accosts the whole group, "We got two points, we go in two teams...”

Irene cuts him short, shrilling and flailing her arms to add more weight to her demand, “We're not going anywhere 'cept outta here!”

Hicks fends off her outburst composedly, “Irene, Delaware, you get to the ship.”

Yet, Delaware protests, "No shit, I'm coming with you," and seeks backing from her fellow pilot.

Thunders explains to Hicks, "The ride stands by in autopilot. You quick release and start her, 2000 metres away adrift and you get out from under the beam. She will moor on the nearest free platform. Once locked, you soft dock and you're home."

Delaware adds specifically for Irene, “If anything you fly off alone.”

Irene clenches her jaws and tightens her grip on the rifle, “Frigging heroes, what do you think you...”

But Hicks speaks over her lamenting, “Corrigan, Delaware and Irene go with Ripley. Lee and Thunders with me. The first level is yours, the second ours. First who finishes the sweep, gets up to the reactor, shuts down the cooling. Will give us about half an hour to leave."

The unanimous nods of acknowledgement.

Hicks goes on, “Ripley and I lead the groups, Corrigan and Lee watch the tails. Keep tight, don't fire wildly or closely. Stay clear off the dead and wounded targets while they spurt acid."

Ripley passes remark, "Who in the rear better take flamethrowers."

Delaware holds over her flamethrower to Lee, Corrigan gives away his rifle to Delaware keeping only flamethrower to himself.

Irene exclaims, "Damn, why hasn't anybody been smart enough to ask for their guns?"

Thunders chuckles, "Our bad, baby.”

Hicks concludes the instructing, "Keep the line open and," he stares at Irene, “free of noise.”

As Ripley's team stirs to leave she faces Hicks' group, with hope and encouragement, "All right, we'll meet you at the reactor."

Thunders grins, "Before you know."

Hicks casts a look at Ripley and assuredly nods. The both teams run off to their respective entry points: Hicks' group to the southern inter-level elevator and Ripley's group through the deck partition doors to the northern one. The premonitory viewscreen clock shows '5: 51: changing seconds'.

78.

The gates of the inter-level elevator open on the 6th floor of the first level; Ripley, Irene, Delaware and Corrigan warily step out into the dead silence of the empty hallway.

Ripley reports in the mic quietly, "We're on the sixth floor."

Hicks' voice reaches out through the earpiece, "Roger that, take care."

Corrigan makes a sign with his hand, Delaware and Irene change places so that Irene goes third in line, next to Corrigan. Ripley waves the direction, and the team move along the passageway.

There are equipment racks, chairs, gadgets littered down the corridor. The station breathes with the hum of air conditioning and ventilation systems, beeping and buzzing of working hardware. Through the transparent doors of some rooms, one can see the same chaos inside, amassed and forsaken.

The group, tense and heedful, enters the hall of inter-storey elevators.

79.

The gates of the inter-level elevator open on the 3rd floor of the second level.

Hicks utters in the mic, "We're in place."

He, Thunders and Lee exit into the dusky hallway and proceed inside one of the corridors, stratified by cellular layers, forming a semicircular passageway. Through the apertures in dark resinous interlaces glows the fluorescent lamp light, making the corridor remotely resemble dense shady tropical thickets on a sunny day – the forest of sinister and predatory plants ready to digest you entirely at any careless movement.

Thunders and Lee are tight-lipped and stiff looking around, Lee lifts the flamethrower in front of herself, a non-verbal warning to whoever may see them now. Hicks nods a direction and they took the right turn, gently treading down the tubular-striped ridges on the floor. The headsets pick up extraneous static noise, crackling. Lee yanks off the headpiece altogether and leaves it hanging on the neck.

80.

Ripley's group eases out of the inter-storey elevator on the 5th floor.

She halts for a second as though listening to something, then gestures her head to the right, low-voicing, "This way."

Delaware gets across to the counterpart team via the mic, "We're on the spot as well."

Ripley and her group set feet in the corridor while Thunders' voice comes through interferences, "Hang in there, baby."

Somewhere distantly down the corridor, a sharp plangent sound discharges as if from the falling of something metal to a metallic floor. Irene flinches but keeps moving. The team, led by Ripley, pace on cautiously and peek through several doors with transparent panes, jumble without a glimpse of inhabitants. Odd deja vu reverberations that Ripley is afraid she unwillingly gets used to.

They approach one solid-panel door which Ripley points to, "Here."

Her gaze falls down to the floor right at the threshold and Ripley freezes in her tracks. On the metalline floor coating lies a yellowish grey, wizened, ripped-up chestburster skin.

81.

Hicks' group turns the corner, the passageway broadens here and the curving grooves in the niches of Alien abode become noticeably larger. Some place ahead are heard remote sounds of squelching, hissing and crackling.

Hicks takes a half-turn to Thunders and Lee, warning them in low voice, "Whatever you see there keep calm."

As they move forward, Thunders misses a step in front of another depression in the Alien build-ups. Lee comes in contact back-to-back with him, spins around with a question in her eyes, also peers into the wall following his gaze. Literally a few inches away from their eyes, there sits the dormant monster, sideways towards them and coiled; his bowed head lowered to the knees, the tail resting on the shoulder, passed between the neck and the curved outward bone; the arms with spiked elbows are bent and six fingers lie freely on the kneecap. He is motionless.

Hicks quietly taps on Thunders' shoulder, they glance at each other and resume moving onward. All the walls in the corridor, according to some uncanny strict geometric pattern, are lined with similar niches where Aliens are seated comatose. The team moves cautiously further on.

82.

Ripley's team go ahead into the room as the door slides open, noiselessly and moving synchronously as a single organism, and people stop dead upon crossing the doorsill.

Even with a little help of scarcely dim light, emitted by monitors and a capsized desk lamp, one can see that the entire floor is strewn with discarded scraps of chestburster hide. Suddenly something on the left whisks up among the leathery bits and pieces.

The door seals behind with a characteristic air-wheezing and the sound of a popping skin penetrates the isolated room. The team turn their heads on it. From within the heap of leathery remains emerges chestburster head, digging its way out; there are interstices all over the top of its head glossed with something shimmery black underneath.

Everyone except Ripley trains up the weapons in its direction.

Ripley pacifies the rest with a wave of her hand, her tone a little louder than a whisper, "Don't."

The hatching creature gnashes and screeches. On its sides break out small arms with which it rends off the remains of chestburster skin from its head and body, spinning around and rolling over on the floor; the tail and legs get released, and having pulled off the remnants of yellow-grey hide the miniature version of the monster rounds on people hissing and grinding its teeth.

Ripley takes a wide stride forward at him. The mini Alien retreats and rushes onto the wall. Denying the gravity, he skitters along it upwards, the tail segmentally undulates making it look like a running lizard. People watch his way up the wall to the ceiling, raising their heads, and suddenly a lightning wave of stupefaction drowns them out. Ripley stills herself, hearing Delaware nervously pant and catching from the corner of her eye Irene grip Corrigan's upper arm.

Along the stretch of the ceiling, monsters of various sizes dangle from their all fours, topside down and marginally swaying. There are a couple of huge, almost adult specimens in the midst of the mob. Barely noticeable moves of their heads, tails and limbs as Aliens shift from one foot to the other and change the position of the hands.

A nerve-prodding squeak on the left makes the heads turn at once. The massive door of a storage wall cabinet slowly cracks open. Ripley aims the rifle first, the rest except Corrigan follow her call. From behind the closet door edges a man's face with eyes frantic from fear and daze. The team withdraw their rifles in relief.

Ripley half-whispers, "It's him."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the somewhat cumbersome sketch, I surmised it would be easy on eyes to have a loose approximation of the journey plan in one visual piece :-)


	5. ALIEN WORLD, HUMAN SURVIVORS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has got a depiction of some disturbing images, so you are forewarned and, thus, forearmed. Yet, if you are not into horror component of these films, I would suggest you considering to skip this part. In this case, please, jump right to the end notes for the chapter summary.

83.

Private block, sector number 7.

On the third floor of the second level, the trio of Hicks, Thunders and Lee advance to a T-junction of galleries.

Hicks devoices, "There", and gesticulates the direction onward and to the right.

The new corridor looks less organic compared to the previous one: the foreign on-wall extrusions are chaotic, unsystematic, lumpy; the heard earlier echoes of rustling and squishing grow more pronounced; there is a stirring ahead on the left. People bear down on its source.

Lee, moving almost backwards, looks around and turns her head straight away, a wide-eyed and pained expression on her face. She grips tighter her flamethrower at the ready and peers into the twilight rear of the hallway they just passed. Hicks and Thunders look on all sides in disquiet and disgust. Thunders swallows with an uneasiness as if trying to garbage down something that is obviously bitterly nasty.

From the wall juts out a human silhouette, enlaced with dark resinous secretions under which weak convulsive movement are perceivable. Next is the second man, 'embossed' on the wall, whose face and hands are not yet completely covered with resin, the skin of a pale blue hue, and one can see the facial muscles and fingers twitching. Hicks looks onwards along the passageway – there is an impression that the whole wall pulsates slightly.

As they pass by another face, uncovered with resin, the man's eyelids suddenly fly open. Thunders reflexively straightens back  up,  t he others follow him and stare at the wall meeting the look of hazy eyes. The man opens his mouth but instead of words only wheezing and whistling is heard, mixed with a groan. Hicks, without breaking his stare off the wall, clasps the sleeve of Thunders' T-shirt and pulls him towards himself. The latter, embracing Lee by the shoulder and neck, also draws her frontwards in tow, step by step.

84.

On the fifth floor of the first level, Ripley comes up to the cabinet, alternately looking under her feet and on the ceiling; Delaware, Irene and Corrigan follow her.

Inside, one can see the other trembling man huddled into the corner, behind the poking out first scientific technologist. Delaware switches on a lantern hanging from her hip and shines it into the closet. On the ceiling, there also hang three yet relatively small growing monsters that begin to hiss as soon as the ray of light travels over them.

The first sci-tech knocks the lantern out of Delaware's hands and yells on the verge of hysteria, "Don't nettle them!"

On the ceiling, one of the almost adult specimens sets to hissing, creeps in their direction on the ceiling; the dorsal fin presses against the back between the tubes, he swings the head down, opens the mouth; the tail viciously sweeps around but sails past, without reaching the people.

Corrigan and Irene lean on dragging out the resisting sci-techs from their hideout but the latter two seem to have the second thought about it, irrational because of lasting menace, startled out of their wits, "They won't touch here!"

The Alien, hanging upside down, treads over onto the cabinet, the metal ringing struck by another metal. Ripley and Delaware help to haul the sci-techs into the centre of the room on a pile of leathery garbage. Ripley glares at the monster. He crawls up to the ceiling once more, acrobatically lithe and on an even keel; right above their heads, the monster unfolds dangling down from his feet on the overhead, takes a backswing with his hand. People crouch and bend down.

The Alien marches down on a row of desks in front of the team and two sci-techs, another sweep of the sow-like tail which does not reach the goal. The group of people instinctively dodges and retreat from the monster. The second sci-tech lunges back for the cabinets but Corrigan deftly grabs and presses him down to the floor.

Delaware comments, "He doesn't go down to the floor."

Next to them, an extra chestburster wakes up, scrambles in circles ripping off its skin.

"They are keeping their brood," Ripley advises.

Corrigan points to the shocked sci-techs, "We better get out of here ASAP."

Delaware notifies in the mic, "Hicks, Thunders, we're heading for the reactor."

Ducking, the people pick their way back to the door.

85.

Hicks turns his head fronting some movement ahead, Thunders and Lee emulate his motion. At this very instant, something yellowish pink flits past Hicks with a high squealing sound. Thunders instinctively throws his hands in front of the face, and the facehugger hangs clasped by his left hand and twirled around the rifle which Thunders holds in the right hand, the muzzle skywards and trigger guard an inch from his face.

Hicks gazes keenly at the agile tiny monster – twitching ceases, the tail sags limply – and exhorts Thunders through gritted teeth, "Drop this grot."

Thunders hurtles the facehugger in front himself, Hicks immediately shoots it to hell. They catch a glimpse of the walls and the floor – there is a double row of eggs running onwards in the darkness, human victims with facehuggers on their faces, glued fast to the walls.

Thunders whispers, addressing mainly himself and covering the microphone with his palm, "Happy birthday, Jonny."

The second egg opens in their vicinity, Hicks and Thunders immediately shoot it, too; Lee inspects the corridor alternately looking back and forth.

Hicks guides Thunders to the right, "The way in gotta be here."

They enter the Alien den between the row of eggs gunning them down.

Hicks calls to Lee, "Torch them," and points out further along the passageway.

She hauls up behind the back of two men while they shoot tarry outgrowths on the wall, alternately tear them off and shower with the rounds again. Lee sprays a molten fiery blast over the lair of eggs, however far she can reach, not walking away from Hicks and Thunders more than three steps. Between the shooting bouts seeps a hissing sound coming from the far ends of the passageway.

"Here! Check.” Upon the sound of opening door Hicks first dives through the doorway with the rifle in front.

Thunders hugs Lee with his free left hand, pulls her backwards to the door, and they both follow Hicks, the bullet-riddled door closes after them.

86.

The Alien in Ripley's room strolls the desks to the door and blocks it standing upright. His left hand rests against the wall above the door; the right arm with the long wrist and fingers, the edgy tail and his bared teeth turned to people. The Alien snarls a sizzling threat.

Ripley, breaking away from the group, press on at him. The Alien clings to the wall, climbs up to the ceiling, and then moves backwards to the corner on the ceiling. Ripley also takes a step back and raises her rifle. Delaware follows her example. They gun down the monster, screeching and hissing as the shells tear into his head and chest. The creature plops to the floor and freezes, caving stains on the walls and floor, smoking and sizzing with acid.

Corrigan and Irene drag the scared sci-techs to the door. Ripley, as if having heard something, raises her head: two more half-adult specimens unfold on the ceiling. She and Delaware pull back and shoot them as well, racket and hissing, the whole ceiling sets in commotion. People go out into the opening door.

Ripley demands, "We better leave fast, they move from above."

The sci-techs are shoved in the middle of the team's file, Corrigan makes the tail of the group, turning around, and they run to the inter-storey elevator.

87.

Puzzled, Hicks and Lee examine the centre of a room where a TRANSLUCENT GLOWING BLUISH PARTITION intersects the office space.

Thunders clamours behind them, "What in space's that?"

Hicks shakes the head, comes closer, probes the screen with the barrel of his rifle, it doesn't go through repelled by the partition. Then he stretches out his hand, ghosts over the luminescence and pulls the hand back, "Feels like energized, a bit."

At this moment the screen disappears and the trio of armed crew notice a blond man with frightened eyes, STEPHAN GALSWO RTHY. He stands near the wall and h olds the hand on some  panel-board .

Hicks utters into the microphone through static interferences, "We've got our mark, too."

The trio walk to the blond as they hear the trembling voice of the blond sci-tech, "Did Weyland send you?"

"No,” Thunders enunciates. “But if you plan on waiting for him, we'll quit."

The blond rushes towards them, "No, I'm with you!"

Suddenly Hicks whirls around to face the door, "They're packing in there,” quickly exchanges glances with Lee and Thunders and cocks the head to the door, "move fast."

Thunders gets a hold on the sci-tech, and as soon as they turn to the door the alarm goes off and across all the sector loudspeakers:

"The automatic destruction of the district will be activated in fifteen minutes, the area will be destroyed in thirty minutes. The option to disable the automatic activation system will expire in seven minutes thirty seconds. Enter the prohibitive code."

Thunders resents, "Lethal quarantine? What the fuck? How the entire sector is set up for the auto blow-up?"

The sci-tech jerks in his tracks, "The code, you need to enter it!" He rolls up the sleeve showing an alphanumeric cipher handwritten by marker pen along his arm from the crook of the elbow to the palm.

When the automatic voice warning ceases, Ripley's voice filters in their earphones through the interference, "The sector... automatically... to the ship. Hicks, get out, too!"

Hicks affirms into the microphone, "Meet you on board."

He hefts the rifle ahead , takes a step towards the door; Lee follows behind, Thunders with the blond survivor fall in between Hicks and Lee. The door whines open and they go out into the semicircular passageway coated with the Alien excrescences. On the left, from where they came, emanates the hiss; the tailed and spiked silhouettes approach inexorably.

Hicks waves his hand to the right, "Lee, go  ahead."

They jostle their way along the corridor section where Lee managed to burn out the foreign processes. Hicks shoots three rushing at their side figures, Thunders turns in his direction and also fires. The sounds of rattle, hiss and the outcries of Thunders and Hicks are heard, "From above... that one... not here... this." While Hicks stares at one receding Alien, the other monster close by him bounds forwards and gets shot by Thunders.

Hicks shouts out, "Lee, what's ahead?"

The entire passageway behind them is crowded with forging monsters, ahead are barbarous sculptural plaques of people with or without facehuggers on their faces.

Lee's voice comes through the barrage of firing, "Clear, as far I can see... Go!"

In the earphones, Ripley and Delaware's anxiety is poured out through the din and static, "Hicks, Lee, Thunders, what you got there?"

88.

Ripley's group is already on the sixth floor on the run to the inter-level elevator. Ripley and Delaware urge the other team, through the noises of shooting, shouting and radio disturbance, "Go out now! We are on the way!..” as they round the corner into the elevator vestibule and still caught off guard.

From the southern staircase, a dozen Aliens creep down onto the hall floor beside the inter-level elevator shaft. Ripley steps forwards, the front monsters get to their feet but do not have time to bid a retreat as Delaware shoots them out.

Ripley also grapples at the rifle and turns her head to the others, "Back to the north stairs!"

They recede, firing back and looking around.

Corrigan examines the stairway, "Clear! Ripley, go point," and darts to her, grabbing by the shoulder and steering her onwards.

Ripley casts a final look back forcing the monsters to withdraw a step or two; Corrigan, Delaware and Irene immediately shoot and souse them with fire, taking advantage of a minute pause in the Aliens' attack.

Ripley lunges ahead of the group. "Move!" she grabs one of the sci-techs by the collar and glowers around; the next Alien front is smitten back by the shock wave, never-ending fire, shooting and outcries.

89.

Through the human yelling and the sounds of rifle shooting and Alien screeching, Hicks calls into the mic, "Ripley?"

"A lot... on the south side... we are on the northern stairs... down!" comes the garbled reply.

At once the blond sci-tech bursts into screaming – one of the men, fixed immovably to the wall with thick resinous films, comes to, convulses and bellows in hurt. The rib bones crack broken, the blood douses the shirt. Reacting, the Marines train their weapons to the source of turmoil and noise.

The sci-tech hollers, looking at the emerging chestburster, "Stewart, no!" and feverishly falls sideways, crashing into Thunders. Pulse rifle rounds pierce the floor next to Hicks' feet.

"Dammit!" Hicks spins and glares at the sci-tech.

"Fucking moron," Thunders pushes away the blond, straightens up.

After another onslaught wave of Aliens, Hicks glances around and sees Lee burn the newly escaped chestburster. There is an approaching horde of monsters from ahead down the passageway on her end, as well. He commands the group, "Fall back, goddamn it, get back!" grabs Thunders' sleeve and makes a dash back.

Lee retreats in the tail with the flamethrower.

90.

Ripley's team descend the metal steps of a fairly wide spiral stairwell. An unceasing shooting echoes, another monster with a crushed head falls and tumbles down the stairs towards them, pouring acid on the steps that begins to eat away at the metal. The group accelerate away from it, Irene aims the rifle at the smouldering carcass.

Ripley admonishes, "Don't fire, or else it'll be dripping on our heads steps below."

Save the noise and crackling in the headsets and the ambient hissing, silence reigns for a few fleeting seconds. The group carefully poke down, Ripley backwards, peering intently at the monsters.

91.

Hicks blocks the door opening mechanism inside the room where his group originally have found the blond sci-tech. Right at this moment, the knockout hammering unleashes on the door in an attempt to break in from the outside.

Hicks turns to the sci-tech and looks at the monitors in the room, "Why didn't you enter the code earlier?"

Galsworthy exclaims, "Not here, you need the signature terminal, on any of the odd levels, middle storey, first room from..."

The door gives in bending inside under the pressure of continual pounding.

Hicks calls upon the sci-tech, "Turn the screen back on!"

Galsworthy nods nervously, rushes to the panelboard on the wall; the team follow him, retreat to the far end of the room.

Hicks demands in the mic, "Irene, Delaware."

The luminous partition  с uts the site in half.

Irene's voice reaches out in the earpiece through the interferences, "Irene is here."

At this moment the door cracks bashed in, and the sizzling monster goes crashing through the hole into the room, turns his head towards the people behind the screen.

Hicks enjoins Thunders, gesturing at the sci-tech, "Give them the code."

While Thunders talks to Irene in the background, Hicks walks over to the screen and stares at the first burst-in Alien.

Lee strolls at his heels, "You can't keep them at bay, can you?"

Hicks wags the head in negation, "Must be something else ahead down the hallway, it's getting in the way."

The alarm system honks to life anew and reports that the time for entering the explosion-inhibiting code expires, there is one minute left. Hicks exchanges a glance with Lee and they both whirl around on Thunders.

The latter holds in sight the blond sci-tech's forearm, on which the code is written, and speaks into the microphone, “...room 401.”

92.

Ripley's team proceed in a measured fashion down the flight of stairs.

Irene confirms into the mic, "Heading for the fourth floor... Understood."

The group reaches the stairs landing on the fourth floor and steps out into the hallway. As soon as they cross the threshold, Delaware and Corrigan immediately shoot and burn the two stray monsters in front.

Irene gestures, "This way," and gets back to Thunders, informing they are almost in place.

The group move along the designated passageway, as the alarm system starts counting down the last thirty seconds to enter the code.

Irene shrills out, "Oh freezing hell!" and swiftly points to the door, "Here!"

The sliding doors part, Ripley quickly inspects the premises and glances back at the corridor, "Clear."

Irene darts inside, the rest and Ripley remain standing by the open door.

Irene finds the terminal, centring on the contact with the other team, "Yep, check! Spill it."

Delaware and Corrigan stand next to Ripley and watch the Aliens swarming on the walls, ceiling and floor at the front end of the corridor, from where they just have come.

Through the noise in the headsets, Thunders' voice imparts, "CBA... 90675... DAH... 04935."

The neutral tone of the warning system persists in counting down, "19... 18..."

Suddenly terrified Irene exclaims, "That's not it! Denied!"

93.

Thunders snaps at the blond, "The code is not accepted!"

Galsworthy points to the first letter E in the second alphabetic part of the cipher, "It's probably F."

Keeping his cool, Hicks advises, “Try again.”

The Aliens behind the bluish partition jump on the screen in front of them, to no avail. Hicks and Lee turn around and study them.

94.

"14... 13..."

Irene re-types the code in the terminal interface and nervously snorts, "Failure, any more ideas?"

Thunders voice, "Let's once again with the first option... DAH... 04935."

"9... 8..."

Ripley glances at Irene's display, "It's not D, but E" –

As Delaware snatches Ripley by the shoulder.

"4... 3..."

Ripley's stare immobilises the Alien just as he, hanging from the ceiling and the wall right above the door of the open room, lays his thin-clawed hand under Corrigan's chin, hugging his head from behind with the bent-at-the-elbow arm.

The system stops counting down “2...1.”

A second later, in the silence beeps a code-receiving signal from Irene's terminal. Grinning, she turns to the group beside the door, and her face draws and darkens instantly.

In the precarious muted standstill, the system announces, "The time for entering the cancelling code has expired, destruction system of the district will be activated in 7 minutes..."

95.

Hicks' group watch the hissing and rankling Aliens behind the screen and listen to the end of the system message:

"...the area will be destroyed in 22 minutes."

Enraged, Thunders angrily flings off the blond tech's arm of him, nears Hicks and Lee, opens his mouth to say something but stops mesmerised. In the adjacent half of the room, the Aliens suddenly run a wide circle on the walls and ceiling and disappear through the doorway of the knocked out door.

Lee refers to Hicks, "Is it you?"

He shakes his head, "They took off on their own," and facing everyone in turns instructs, "I'll go ahead, you,” he points to Lee and Thunders, “are at the rear, and you,” gesture to the blond, “go right after me, and don't you dare jump the gun once again! Got it all right?"

Galsworthy nods, nervous and speechless. They regroup beside the wall with the control electric panel. The screen vanishes; for a moment the group pause, all ears for the distant noise and echoes.

"Get moving," Hicks squeezes through the ruptured door, followed by the others jostling their way out of the room.

In the passageway, he stops to look around: there are tailed and ridged shadows swarming far away down the corridor; the fore end, where they have struggled to escape to, seems unobstructed. Hicks pushes on, motioning onwards, "This way."

Lee and Thunders heft their arms towards the monsters, wiggling in the distance, and consciously tread in a three-quarter turn after the sci-tech and Hicks. The point Marine also occasionally glances back, on and off. The group proceed quite fast.

96.

The two sci-techs start in consternation and back away for the free part of the corridor ahead.

Unblinkingly, Ripley keeps her eyes on the motionless Corrigan's monster, who hugs his head hanging over him upside down from the ceiling, and raises her rifle. She directs it towards the throng of Aliens at the other side of the gallery, where they came from. Delaware copies her stance. Irene, having a look again at Corrigan, also readies the rifle, coming up to the doorsill.

Corrigan stands half-turn with his back to Irene and observes Ripley at the time, when the Alien's hand begins to gracefully slide its thin sharp-nailed fingers from under his chin onto the right cheek, over the man's ear and hair. Spiked elbow rises, releasing Corrigan's head.

Delaware and Irene open fire on the monsters jumping for them in the corridor. Corrigan's Alien lets go of him altogether, moves back across the ceiling towards the rest of their swarm. Corrigan raises the flamethrower and accompanies Ripley in shooting and pouring fire into the gallery. The rebuffed monsters creak, sizz but slither back, nonetheless.

Corrigan urges, "Ripley, to the inter-storey elevators," and guides her to move on.

The team with Ripley at the front overtake the irresolute techs and steadily trace along the pathway, fighting back the monsters on their tail.

97.

Hicks eliminates the sealed facehugger eggs, placed in rows on the coated with fleshy protuberances floor. Next to the open eggs, there are human bodies on the walls, ribs broken and twisted outwards.

Ahead of the advancing team, the gallery turns right and extends to the lobby that connects the parallel storey corridors. Hicks looks up, suspending his pace; the rest turn their heads in his direction and also gaze at the lobby.

At the top of the ceiling, a huge ALIEN QUEEN hangs on the mucous slings. Shrivelled and dried-out, the remnants of her ovipositor lie around on the hall floor. Having swayed on trammelling her resinous strips, the queen breaks free and jumps off them to the floor, menacingly stretching her neck and clumping towards the people.

Hicks takes aim at her, but somewhere behind the first Queen another hiss is heard, and in the visible part of the hall crawls the second Queen across the ceiling, flips down to the floor. The first monstrous female pirouettes full-height to face to the second one. They hiss, gesticulate with four arms, spin their heads, waving the tails and waltzing opposite each other.

The second Queen is noticeably smaller but bendier than the first. The latter one swings back her arm and tail, and the second female dodges the strike, ducking and retreating. The both Queens cross the hall to the left, sparing the part of the hallway.

Hicks goads the team, "Come on."

The second Alien female knocks down the first, smashing her with the tail. The first Queen plunks, rolling over and skidding towards the people. Thunders and Lee train their guns on her.

Hicks warns, "Don't fire! They're holding each other. Leave to the elevators. Now!"

The first monstrous female gets to her feet and rushes to the second Queen, vindictive hissing and threatening poise.

The team pass the hall. As soon as the fighting Queens remain behind them, the second female bounces from the ceiling with the sharp tail to the head of the first Queen. They both clank down, a bundle of sharp spikes and nails rolls on the floor, thudding, screeching and hissing. At last the heated duel lets up. The second Queen rises pivoting her head to hiss at the people.

Hicks and the others flee the battle scene into the passageway, looking at the victorious Queen. However, she unexpectedly creeps on the wall as the noises come forth from the opposite hallway.

98.

Ripley's group hurry out of the inter-storey elevator on the third floor.

She moves her head upwards, "They're on the stairs."

Corrigan motions the direction with his hand, "To the inter-level stairs, pronto. Two flights down and on the first floor take the elevator."

Ripley nods and cannonballs along the hallway ahead of the team, glancing back to see if the others keep step. Corrigan goes in a half-turn at the rear, Irene and Delaware run between them and hold the sci-techs. From upstairs come clanking sounds.

99.

The monsters abruptly show up in the hall pouring from a corridor, opposite to the passageway the Hicks' team took, and barge towards the people. A few charging forwards Aliens slow down the pace, crouch, hiss and the next wave of monsters also repeats the stand of the previous ones. Hicks' group shoot back at jumping out Aliens and thrust ahead along the corridor. There is heard a din of overlapping sounds, a thumping in the background with a loud resounding knell and a staccato of rifle explosives.

Suddenly a thudding comes forth too close, from someplace ahead on the right aisle side.

Hicks turns around to the sound and notices the blond tech takes off in nothing flat and lunges onwards:

"They're here!"

Thunders also spins around in the blond's direction and hastens after him, "Fucker!"

All at once, a door covered in resinous strips on the right hand pops outwards broken, annoying thudding now replaced by crackling. Hicks grabs Lee and pushes her by to Thunders' side; she moves closer to the pilot, keeping her point amidst the two fellow Marines. Through the breach in the door, the Alien emerges into the passageway separating Hicks from the others.

He shouts out to Lee, "Move on, use fire!" and alternately looks backwards – shooting – and onwards – where the second monster already crawled out next to the first one.

Lee and Thunders, segregated by the Aliens from Hicks, warily tread away, Thunders holding Galsworthy's sleeve in a firm grasp with his left hand. Lee spreads the short-range fire over the nearest monsters to ward them off.

As the third Alien comes crawling through the broken door into the corridor, Hicks yells over the noise of firing, "Go to the elevator!"

Lee and Thunders linger on watching him. The fourth monster shows up between them, and the Aliens begin to break out from inside the next door, now on the left side of the corridor, right in front of the others.

"Now!" Hicks urges.

Lee and Thunders with the sci-tech hotfoot forwards. Hicks shoots out the four Aliens behind them but notices the monsters take out the second door several steps ahead and make an appearance pressing out into the passageway.

"Damn," Hicks whirls, looks back, invisible wave repels the nearest Aliens at the front. Hicks blasts them far and wide, glances at the gap in the door not far from him. The protruding head hides back behind the ruptured door. Instead, a crush of the Aliens keeps swelling up in the corridor.

Through the semi-smashed door, Hicks retreats into a room and tries to move with his back pressed against the inner wall, surrounded by the monsters.

There are portholes, overlooking blackness speckled with stars, in the outer wall of the room. On the right is a vertical interior partition with a huge hole in it, the monsters creeping in through. On the left, a huge up-to-the-ceiling metal cabinet fences the room, standing flat to the inner wall and not reaching a couple of metres to the outer wall with portholes.

Hicks marks '56' on his rifle's round counter and edges to the cabinet's side along the wall.

100.

Thunders , racing out through the opening door of the southern inter-level elevator with the sci-tech and Lee on the first deck of the D7-sector dock, reports into the mic, "Corrigan, we're moving to the airlock."

Corrigan's voice comes through, "Got it, we're getting down, too." 

Thunders' group run up to the southern airlock. He opens the hatch gates, as a foot tramping reaches their ears across the deck. Lee and Thunders take up the arms at the ready but it is Ripley's team showing up from the north side.

Thunders unseals the external hatch, leading to the Montero's space bridge, and urges Lee, "Go."

The three rush to the ship. In a matter of seconds, Ripley's group set their feet on the gangway as well: Irene and Delaware at the front shepherding the sci-techs; Corrigan with the flamethrower and Ripley tailing the file. Ripley casts a last glance at the deck, a hiss grows louder coming from the central inter-level stairs.

She seals the inner, then external hatches and runs down the space bridge to the ship, "Hicks!"

The system mechanically announces, "Attention! The destruction system of the district is activated, the area will be destroyed in 15 minutes. You need to leave the district immediately."

101.

Aboard the Montero.

Ripley dashes entering the ship, "Dwayne?" looks around and grows numb in her tracks. Horror and fear are manifest in her eyes as she whispers, "No."

Silence is taxing. Delaware runs towards the cockpit after Thunders. Irene, Corrigan and Lee, stealing looks at Ripley, seat the three sci-techs and strap them into the chairs.

Corrigan quickly approaches Ripley, hugs her shoulders and pulls to the seat, "Come on, we're leaving."

Ripley looks back at the ship's hatches and up, questions Lee, "He stayed behind, didn't he?"

Unforthcoming, Lee bears down upon her. Ripley wiggles out of Corrigan's arms and rushes back to the hatch, presses the button to open it but the gates are already locked. She shouts out into the headset mic, "Thunders, open the hatches!"

In the cockpit, Thunders trades a glance with Delaware.

Lee comes very close up to Ripley. She points the rifle at the redhead which Lee easily knocks out of Ripley's hands in the next instant. Another tick later, Lee stands behind Ripley's back holding the stubborn woman's right arm crosswise with the left hand, right arm across Ripley's shoulders, and pushes Ripley further inwards.

Yet, Ripley suddenly snatches her firearm out of the holster on her vest with the free left hand and brings it up to her own head, "Let go!"

Lee freezes and loosens her grip.

Ripley shrugs off Lee's arms and darts back to the airlock, the pistol still against her temple, "Thunders! Corrigan! Who's fucking in charge now, open it!"

Strained, Corrigan speaks into the mic, "Open the doors."

The gate opens.

Ripley, signals with her eyes at the weapon near the wall, "Flamethrower."

"This is insane." Lee interposes.

Terrified, Irene passes Ripley the new flamethrower.

Ripley designates to Lee, "I don't mind."

She runs out back into the space bridge, opens the outer station hatch. Inside the pressurised chamber is heard a thud on the gates of the internal hatch. Ripley pulls herself together inwardly, sets the flamethrower at the ready and punches the button to open the inner hatch.

The double cross-gates part and the dark grey hissing mass of corrugated heads and spiked tails meet her at the entrance.

Ripley sends the first visible semicircle of the Aliens a step back, sidles along the wall to the right, "Yes, you got it right, fucking rags. Now we have something in common."

The gush of spewed flames covers the nearest monsters, crackling and screeching.

102.

Private block, sector number 7.

Hicks ploughs his way on, the back against the cabinet, shooting the Aliens within a stone’s throw of him. One of the monsters rushes vertically onto the metallic storage locker, but Hicks drives him down to the floor and eliminates. Forcing the monsters to move backwards for a moment, he glances around the cabinet's corner – alas, the other half of the office premises is also teeming with the Aliens.

Shooting alternatively back and forth, Hicks finally pauses with his back to the cabinet's end, straight in front of the huge porthole. A few monsters ahead move on the wall and to the ceiling, get their portion of cartridges and plump to the floor.

Turning the heads Hicks glances at the viewport and notices the cargo and passenger ship fly away from the block.

From behind on the right, the Alien jumps into his face and bounces off. Hicks directs the rifle which treacherously falls silent and drops it, "Dammit." Pouncing on the firearm, he fires back and rounds the left corner of the storage locker. Playing a losing game at the dead end. He slows along the cabinet towards the inner wall, staring at Aliens, shoots at the next monster launching towards him, the second, the third.

Emergency system vapidly informs, "Attention! The district's destruction system is activated, the area will be destroyed in 7 minutes and 30 seconds. You need to leave the district immediately."

Hicks leans back against the cold metal of the storage locker, still peering back at the porthole, then crouching around Aliens. With a crooked and bitter smile, Hicks lifts the gun to his head –

Suddenly Ripley's outcry, verging on screaming, comes out from afar in the corridor, "Hicks!"

The lunged at him Aliens flew back as quick as a flash.

Hicks sharply thrusts the gun back in the holster, "Ripley?" He edges from the cabinet to the inner wall and moves to the broken door, intently watching the monsters around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In short, Hicks and Ripley's sweep over the ill-fated district turns out successful - they manage to rescue three men. However, owing to a dick move of one of the rescued, Hicks is forced to stay behind. Upon finding that out, Ripley plunges back to the hellish scene.
> 
> I must admit I am a sucker for the idea of her going back for the cat, then for the girl and... :-)


	6. THROUGH HELL AND SPACE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we are damn aware even modern fission nuclear plants are operated on non-explosive fuel (uranium) and fusion reactors are supposed to feed off not radioactive gases/plasma. But let's presume, for the continuity sake, those beastly greedy corporations in the future found out a way of cheap nuclear fusion exploiting highly emitting materials and went for it.

103.

Private block, sector number 7.

With her back against the wall and spraying fire on the monsters behind, to whence she came from the south elevator, Ripley holds her nerve and picks her way along the covered with dark resin passageway, onwards to the breach in the left wall. Upon reaching the enormous gaping hole, she is relieved to notice Hicks slinking against the inner wall inside, almost at the opening.

Hicks glances ahead and also catches sight of her on the other side of the break at the moment when Ripley turns her gaze back into the corridor. The monsters creep asunder from the broken door. Stepping backwards, Hicks strides through the ruptured barrier and straightens up standing back-to-back with Ripley.

Without saying a word and tracking the monsters with her eyes, Ripley exhales intermittently, as though after a long cramping sobbing, and briskly moves her right hand from the flamethrower onto his thigh. Hicks places his left hand on top of hers, interlacing the fingers, and so tightly squeezes her hand that the knuckles pale; his right palm lands on her hip with hers left atop. A moment of mutual reassurance.

Ripley gently lifts her left hand up, and Hicks also releases her right hand. She takes the rifle off of her neck and shoulder, hands it over to Hicks and whispers, "We'll leave on the second ship from the lower deck."

"All right, ready?" he stares at the Aliens abounding in the corridor at his end.

Ripley raises the flamethrower, "Let's go."

Surrounded by monsters in front and behind, they progress rather quickly towards the southern elevator, retracing Ripley's route and moving the sizzling Aliens with them; shooting the monsters at their heels and scaring off with the fire those ahead.

However, right before the welcome exit to the elevator lobby, the Aliens seem to suspiciously remove by themselves, clearing the passageway. Ripley, lightly turning and padding on, carefully steps out into the hall and eyes around. The escaping monsters disappear down the inter-level staircase. Ripley lifts his face up and stops cold. Hicks also walks into the hall, watches the suddenly retreating monsters behind him, turns to the right, comes closer to Ripley along the wall and looks up in the direction of her fixed gaze.

From the ceiling hangs the Queen, upside down and with the head towards the humans. There is the other Alien sitting beneath Queen's back, also upside down but with the twisting tail towards the people and the head bowed vertically, parallel to the walls.

Ripley aims the flamethrower.

Yet, Hicks lowers it with the rifle clamped in his right hand, "Don't.”

Unhampered, they warily advance for the elevator door along the wall. Suddenly, the Queen rotates her head and burst into hissing towards them. The second Alien jumps off of her, overturning in the midair and landing on his bent limbs. Then he fully stretches up and bipedally goes for the people, at a deliberate and predatory-graceful rate; tilts his head askew, opens the double jaws. The Queen glides to the floor down the wall and also draws near.

Ripley notices that the first approaching Alien has got the completely SMOOTH HEAD – like the specimen she once saw in close quarters of the Narcissus – and shorter tail, hands and fingers. The Queen stops at the rear of the smooth-headed Alien and hisses in unison. She is about half again as tall as the drone.

Hicks trains the rifle on the foes, Ripley follows him in stride. The couple against the other couple.

104.

Aboard the Montero.

Seated at the helm, Thunders questions Delaware, "Anything?" and stares into unperturbed space before the viewport, right up to the orbital station six blocks.

Delaware quietly utters, "Not a blip."

Irene, Corrigan and Lee stand behind, latching onto the pilot chairs' backs and waiting tensely; the three survivors are farther down the deck, still fastened in the passenger seats.

Thunders prompts Delaware, "Okay, turn the transmitter on."

She opens the false panel, "Activating."

The outer space pattern changes drastically, with the lone sector D7 floating in the viewscreen now.

105.

Private block, sector number 7.

All of a sudden, the Queen jabs her tail forwards and pierces the drone's chest, he wriggles impaled on her sharp appendage, squeaking and rasping. Ripley shudders and spontaneously trusts the left hand aside, shutting off Hicks, as he winces, throws the left arm around her and draws Ripley away from the xenicide scene. The Queen, holding the drone firmly with her short internal pair of arms, slams in and tears apart his head with her external hands; the drone's remains soak into the floor with acid and clangorously tumble down.

The system message airs, "Attention! The district's destruction system is activated, the area will be destroyed in 3 minutes. You need to leave the district immediately."

The Queen turns her head, hissing at people, and hastens towards the stairs. Ripley glances at the drone's scraps – reflection of some macabre praying mantis and black widow spider's habits.

Hicks pushes her to the elevators, "Go, 'til all her army shows up here."

They sprint for the elevator, bolt inside on the fly and the elevator goes down. The door opens to the second docking deck, revealing it entirely clogged up full of the monsters.

Ripley and Hicks, fending off the front row of Aliens, pad out of the elevator. She pays attention to the unsealed southern hatches and the way the Aliens by themselves move away in half at the airlock gates, as if clearing the path, at the far end of the deck. Hicks casts a look back; a pair of Aliens who managed to crawl in a short span between the humans and elevator door, creep aside in different directions.

In the background, the warning is resounded, "Attention! The district's destruction system is activated, the area will be destroyed in 2 minutes. You need to leave the district immediately."

In a trice, Hicks grabs Ripley, clasping her under chest with his left arm, and sticks in the rifle between the closing elevator doors, stepping back and dragging resisting Ripley inside. He punches a button, the doors slide shut.

As the elevator moves up, Ripley pounces at him, "What are you doing?"

Hicks slings the rifle over his shoulder and catches her hands, "We don't have enough time to leave on the ship."

Ripley tries to reach the panel of elevator buttons, "We must try..."

Hicks presses her up against the opposite wall, "The gates are open, she's likely on the ship."

Ripley struggles to escape his grip, "We can get rid of her!"

"Or not! Listen, you know what our smooth-headed chum was there for, right?"

Ripley stills and looks him in the eye, her own eyes widen and taut expression colours her face, “She's going to breed.”

106.

Aboard the Montero.

The ship flies past the southern platform of the second deck, where the second ship is hanging with the star bridge leading to her. The Montero crew peer ahead, but the ship is dead, there are no gleams of light or movement near her viewport.

Corrigan calls into the microphone, "Hicks? Ripley?" but there is only a static in response.

One of the sci-techs from Ripley's group begins to whine, "Why did ever you come back here? Everything is gonna explode..."

Lee, whirling around, strides towards him and slaps him on the face. The clock shows 6:28 with minutes changing to 29.

After another circle below the block, Thunders finally offers, "Heading out."

The sector D7 dwindles in the viewport and the Montero flies away.

107.

Private block, sector number 7.

Over the wailing and blaring of system message 'the area will be destroyed in one minute', Ripley shouts out to Hicks, "Inter-sector commuter!"

He nods. As the elevator doors part, Hicks takes the rifle in his right hand, Ripley hefts the flamethrower at the ready, and they tear into the empty elevator hall of the first level.

Hicks pulls Ripley to the left, "If this block is really like the others, the exit should be in the east, in place of the inter-sector cab."

She wags her head in agreement, "Hurry.”

Together they run through the unkempt and empty central eastern corridor, chased by the fuss and hissing coming from behind. As Ripley and Hicks run up to what seems as commuter doors –

"...the area will be destroyed in 30 seconds..."

He hits the button to open the gates, but next to the panel with an alphanumeric keypad, the message 'Enter the prohibitive code' displays. Hicks slams on the door, "Damn it!"

Pouring fire at the approaching monsters, Ripley looks around and nods at the Aliens, "Hold them!"

They rotate in a flash, standing back-to-back again, he eyes the monsters and fires.

"24, 23... "

Ripley punches in the alphanumeric combination and presses "Enable" to be cynically greeted by the failure signal. "Fuck!"

Hicks forces the wayward Alien down from the right wall and shoots him.

"18, 17..."

Once again Ripley types in the cypher and gets the rejection sounds. She bangs her hand against the wall, "I don't remember the fucking code!" Ripley covers her mouth, on the brink of crying.

"12, 11..."

Hicks puts his left hand on her thigh, "Ease down, you know it, just type it."

Ripley lifts her face up, whispering, "EAH... 04935", and presses the button sequence for the third time.

"7, 6..."

Eventually, the code acceptance signal beeps, and the commuter doors whir open. Ripley throws her arms around Hicks, scurrying backwards and pulling him inside. He glances around, and at that moment one of the Aliens rushes towards them and crosses the doorsill, followed by the second, the third. Ripley and Hicks move to the opposite end with their weapons trained on the monsters, though, without shooting.

As on cue, the rear doors part behind their backs, offering the exit from the WALK-THROUGH FALSE COMMUTER CAB. Looking around and holding the Aliens at gunpoint, Ripley and Hicks back away and out at the double, the monsters synchronously trailing them.

108.

Antenna's strut.

Keeping up a backwards gait, the couple look around in a daze. The whole room is stuffed with some kind of power units. There is a feeling that the air rings because of high voltage and the image floats like seen through the vapour of a hot steam, a vague bluish light effect fills the chamber. The Aliens creak and wriggle, nevertheless, continue to follow people.

Hicks notices the next commuter doors at the opposite end of the room, "Over there, fast!"

The third doors reluctantly open. Ripley and Hicks dart into the commuter cab, and one of the Aliens manages to squeeze in before the gates slide shut. The car lurches and moves east. Ripley steadily gazes at the hissing Alien. He exserts the inner jaws out, sweeps his arm but still can not move any closer to the people.

Suddenly, the commuter car jerks back and forth. Hicks shields Ripley. The Alien gets sent flying into them; tumbling, he coils up, the dorsal crest narrowly flies past Hicks' face.

When the commuter rocking slacks off, Ripley and Hicks pull back from the Alien, focusing on him. However, the creature silently steps back without fighting, crouches, drops his head, puts his palms on his knees caps, wraps the tail around his shoulder and freezes. Energy saving mode in a lack of any exigency.

Ripley turns her head to Hicks, "Do you hold him?"

He shakes the head and watches Ripley suddenly take a step forwards. The alien remains motionless. Hicks lays his hands on her shoulders, "Ellen?"

She brushes her fingertips over his hand and carries on, stretching out her arm and almost touching the two central ridges on the corrugated upper part of Alien's head. He slightly tilts his head and tightens the tail wrapping. Meditatively, Ripley pulls away her hand and withdraws.

A ringing signal of arrival breaks the silence, the doors open. Ripley and Hicks, still walking backwards, enter the anterior commuter chamber. The Alien unfolds, elegantly moving along.

To the left, one can hear a quiet whistling and crackling, then a louder pop of something burst. A portentous crack snaps across the chamber's left wall.

Hicks seizes onto Ripley, "Third block, now," and presses towards the cross-locking doors facing the commuter.

Ripley looks back at the Alien. The crack in the wall grows, air suction sound increases. Hicks pushes Ripley out to the pre-commuter lobby of the Tourist sector D3, casts a glance at the creature that recoils back into the chamber. The gates seal shut.

109.

Touristic block, sector number 3.

Through the porthole of the pre-commuter chamber, it is visible that the left wall rends apart and the horizontal commuter strut gradually swerves to the right, expelling the Alien to outer space through the gap formed in the wall. Ripley sees off the creature gliding away.

Hicks spies the direction of her gaze, "They ain't pets, can't be house-broken, you know it."

She nods, “Having seen them for so long, you are taking a shine to them,” and staggers away from the porthole. Suddenly realising how exhausted she is, Ripley sits right down on the grilled floor in the middle of the commuter lobby, leaning on her left hand. She did her utmost to obliterate that annoying bad feeling, but it still is there. Ripley looks up at Hicks.

His head lifted upwards, Hicks seems listening to something. Ripley also concentrates on sounds, sniffs. There is an increasing hum heard in the distance.

Ripley lets out her concern, "Are the electric wires melting?"

Hicks shakes his head, "Most likely, the equipment doesn't hold."

Proving his words, suddenly, several lamps shatter and go out one by one in the corridor on the right. There are a squealing yowl and clatter of a brought to a halt air conditioner's motor.

Ripley flinches, “There should be a fail-safe system picking up, why isn't it?”

“It probably is, but we don't know what power rate that contraption was operating at.” Hicks lowers his eyes and squats down, running his hand across the floor from the commuter chamber. At once, he jerks his hand up, rushing towards Ripley, "Emergency circuits are overheating. Let's skip out, 'til the whole sector is thrown in the dark," and pulls her up.

The lights fade out in the passageways to the left and to the right.

Ripley straightens up, "So the whole sector is gonna be short of light, air and other life supports, right?"

"Most likely.” Hicks nods toward the destroyed commuter strut, “The external power circuit is damaged, and the reactor seems to be running high voltage..."

"Reactor!" Ripley widens her eyes. “It's radiators still need power.”

"Goddamned electrical power," Hicks adds.

In a heartbeat, they both shoot for the inter-level elevators down the western corridor.

110.

Aboard the Montero.

In the viewport, the sector D3 shows up, its lateral western strut – that previously led to the antenna – pivoted sidewise to Earth, with debris at the left free end where the space aerial was previously attached to it.

Delaware points to the empty navigation display, "That's why I'm blind."

Lee, Irene and Corrigan peer into the viewport, exchanging glances. Piloting hold-up is the last thing on their minds.

"Okay, call it a day,“ Delaware removes her headset to the neck, replacing it with the pilot's headphones, hanging behind the chair's back, and switches on the radio buttons in the dashboard. “We are coming to Earth."

Irene with a gloomy-long face walks away into the passenger cabin. Thunders once again flies the ship about the destroyed strut.

Suddenly the blond sci-tech gestures towards the semicircle of going out lights on the left wall of the sector D3 and stutters nervously, "Power... is going haywire..."

Delaware interrupts him, "As I said earlier, call it a day," and speaks into the microphone, "Antarctica…"

Yet, Galsworthy doesn't reconcile himself to her cold shoulder, "You don't understand! When all the circuits burn out, it will cut-off for the cooling system... no self-power, no generators, nothing to support the reactor cooling system... There's no one to..."

"That's the point,” Delaware snipes at the sci-tech, “no one is there! And I just want to go home." She turns to Thunders, “Can you bring me low? There is no signal relaying...”

"The whole Earth will be covered by radioactive fallout!"

After a pause, taken for the picture to soak in, Corrigan asks Galsworthy, "Can you stop it?"

He wags his head anxiously, "Yes, I... I can!"

Thunders explains to Corrigan, “The only way now we could dock is to warp her manually.”

“Can you do that?”

Thunders snorts, “Never done, might try as well,” and studies Corrigan expression.

Corrigan tenses and utters in low voice, “Then do it.” Decisions that endanger others' lives are never easy to make.

Delaware's gaze flickers between Corrigan and her co-pilot. She takes off the headphones, punches off the radio signal and waves to the instrumentation, looking at Thunders, "Now this is all yours."

He reaches for the overhead controls, “Autos off”, and as the two pilots re-configure the flight settings via screens and buttons, Thunders adds reassuringly, "We'll dock her blind."

The Montero makes a wide circle, heading to the platforms of the middle, military sector.

111.

Touristic block, sector number 3.

Ripley and Hicks tear out of the elevator into the third, upper zone of the processing complex and look around. There are fusion power plant schematic diagrams and floor plans, some instructions and graphs ahead on the wall.

Ripley traces some print-out with her hand and motions to the right, along the corridor, "The control room must be there."

They twirl around, run past several office rooms; the doors are open everywhere, and there are heaps of hardware with blinking multicoloured lights within.

Hicks glances into the fifth room along the passageway and turns to Ripley, "Here."

They dart inside. Like all the other processing premises, it is a spacious but almost windowless room apart from a single small porthole in the wall opposite the door. The operations centre is divided by a plastic-metal partition with a see-through upper glass screen. Both walls – left and right – are rows upon rows of displays with control panels, sensor readouts and a multitude of digital switches. A few of the monitors continually wink with a flashing message.

Hicks pores over it and spells out the warning to Ripley, "All four converters are at work and oversupplying the system. Regulators failed when the amperage peaked after the circuit got busted."

Vertical bar charts with temperature, pressure and electric values are visible on the screen.

Ripley peers into another display, flipping through the schematics, "Two converters are enough to power the block."

He nods and gestures behind the partition, where are seen figures separately for each nuclear converter and their nomenclature: south-east, south-west, north-east and north-west.

They throw themselves to adjacent terminals behind the divider wall.

Hicks offers, "Let's snuff out two of them."

112.

Aboard the Montero.

Thunders looks at the side viewport to his left, hands on the control joystick and lever.

Delaware studies data at her screen, “Echo says we should be under the eastern platform, ten to twenty metres.”

Thunders chuckles, "Oh that's very precise, hun. Any thoughts on centring?"

She unfastens from the chair and leans over Thunders' controls, striving to discern at least something on the other side of the left-side porthole, "If I assessed it correct, we're right under it but I cannot see shit.”

“Yeah, my sentiments. Right," Thunders shouts out into the cabin behind, "brace up, folks," and prompts to Delaware, "Drop down, too."

As soon as she plops onto the pilot's seat, clutching the straps with her hands, the ship abruptly lurches upwards and a hollow click is heard.

Over the chatter of outcries and hissing down the aisle, Lee exclaims, "Geez."

Thunders checks the screens, "How are we, honey?"

"No contact. Shit! We're hanging on one clip," Delaware switches between her displays.

The blond sci-tech makes an attempt to unbuckle, "We can go?"

Thunders turns the head, "If you got a fucking space suit in your pocket, I'll be happy to open the doors."

Irene appears in the bulkhead way, "Can't do anything without the pressurisers?"

Thunders nods, "Connect the contacts or roll out the gang, you have to go out."

"Or wait until someone releases you from here," Delaware finishes the phrase.

“Or,” Thunders swivels back to the dashboard and emphasises to the others, "Okay, brace up. Volume two.”

The engines whizzing with energy, the ship swings faintly but hangs in place, retained by the platform clip. Suddenly a wailing of bending metal blares from above. Saving the pilots, all the crew raise their eyes upwards.

Delaware changes the picture on her screen and sighs with relief, "Pressure is normal."

Thunders is all ears, holding his breath, as though he himself became a part of the ship, hands gripping the control joystick and lever. A resonant crack rings through the Montero, and the ship sharply plummets to the right and downwards; an alert goes off in the cockpit.

"Was the hull breached?" Thunders demands from Delaware, manipulating flight and engines controls.

"Nominal integrity. We have lost the western clip," she switched off the siren.

Thunders gesticulates a display of jettisoning and directs the ship into the next loop, "Let's moor her at the neighbours', Colonials."

The Montero circles the station clockwise. In the viewport on the right, the sector D3 makes an appearance, unpowered at the bottom diagonally – from the docking facilities and the west side up to the fifth level.

The blond sci-tech shakes his head, "Oh my dear Lord…"

113.

Touristic block, sector number 3.

In the operations room, one can see graphs on the huge wall screens, plotting down the descending parabola-like curve in the current time; below and above them are numerical readings displayed.

Ripley hurriedly works on some digital switches in the smaller screens on the desk, “A's and B's to ten and one. What's next?”

“That's it,” Hicks lunges to her from the other screens and also scans closely the monitors of nuclear converters' terminals.

Ripley comments worryingly, "The reaction rates decrease, it's just not quickly enough to decay below the threshold of rotation.”

"Reaction drops with the temperature fall, they are just scorching too hot to come undone in a minute," Hicks shakes his head and looks through the half-transparent partition back at the second part of the room.

There on the monitors, displaying the rate voltage outputs produced by the converters, four long vertical green bars are still visible.

Ripley reminds, "What about the block's electrical system?”

They run along for the first room. Hicks calls up a picture of the sector power supply on the screen, adjacent to the converters energy indices one. There are only a few functioning circuits of the processing complex and the upper west side of the fifth level schematically visible.

Ripley utters with concern, "This is quite close."

Hicks gazes around and focuses on the declining graphs in the terminal screens behind the partition, then again on the green vertical bars. Ripley scurries up to the door and peeks into the corridor.

114.

Aboard the Montero.

The ship steadily flows down with its starboard towards the colonial block D4, the stern to Earth; in the right pane of Montero's viewport, illuminated station portholes are visible. When the ship passes the technical floor of the docking complex and the western platform on the first deck, Thunders slows its course.

Delaware inspects her echo readings, then looks around to estimate the depth of the ship's hull and peers at the floating up reinforced deck wall outside, "Should be about now."

The Montero slightly reverses and veers to the right.

Thunders glances alternatively at echo scans and outside, exhorts Delaware, “Okay, clip us now.”

She nods and presses the button of electromagnetic grips on the screen panel. The ship violently bolts up and right, a series of thuds reverberating, everyone shaking in their chairs from the sharp movement.

Against the outcries of curses behind, Delaware affirms, "We have contact!" and heaves a sigh of relief.

Her monitor shows three activated clips, connected with the station retainer, and the standard greeting of the flight control system.

Thunders activates some switches in his dashboard, "Gang, gang! Deploying the gangway," unfastens and hops out of the pilot's seat. "Come on, Kitty," he looks in Delaware's face, who still seems to have not fully apprehended they finally reached their substitute 'terra firma' in the low orbit.

Thunders hastens past the others, releasing themselves from the buckles, up to the airlock chamber. He hauls up with his back to everyone else, watching the Montero space bridge unfurling in the viewscreens near the inner hatch, palm against the wall to steady himself and conceal the nervous tremor.

Irene is the second to appear at the hatch, "This is the freaking last time, Thunders, I'm flying with you."

He nods without turning around, under his breath, "Me too, baby, me too."

115.

Touristic block, sector number 3.

Ripley peers into the right end of the passageway, whence they came, and notices the lamps burn out and go out in the farthest corner. She rushes back into the control centre, "We have to leave, the upper inter-sector elevator to the technical floor..." but trails off, copying Hicks' glance at the instrumentation board.

The two of fours graph bars slide down and change colour from green to blue. Immediately, Ripley peeks back into the corridor. All the lights, bar a few that burned earlier, continue shining; it is quiet, only a measured humming of the blowing air conditioning system.

Still a bundle of nerves, ready to run at the high sign, she returns to the operations room, casts a wary look at Hicks and again at the monitors.

Hicks steals a tired look at Ripley, stumbles away from the control panel displays and, pursing his lips, backs towards the partition, accidentally hitting and tugging along a swivel chair. He slumps against the wall and wearily sinks to the floor, kicking the chair back to the desk, and checks his interphone. No network is found. Hicks turns the face to the right towards the small porthole overlooking the serene and infinite star field.

Ripley, standing in the doorway, looks away from the monitors at Hicks and then around herself, taking in the surroundings of where she is now and getting to the bottom of the place that she was before at. She exhales lightly, inwardly bracing herself for the next move, and wearily approaches him. Ripley sits on his lap, straddling, face to face, and puts the hands on his shoulders. With a glimmer of hope in her eyes, she peers at his face, "Dwayne..."

Hicks' eyes dart to her face and he lays the hand on her shoulder but immediately lowers it, “We're safe.” He exhales noisily and presses his lips tight, facing again the porthole on the right – the stellar abode will eternally stay untroubled.

Ripley lands her palms on the both sides of his face, forcing him to turn the head, "Corporal Hicks,” she waits until he meets her eyes, “will you marry me, corporal?"

Hicks seems to rouse, his expression passing through disbelief and surprise to amazement to realization of the future on the cards that suddenly looks brighter. Finally, he slaps himself together and chortles, "If you marry me, Lieutenant."

Ripley smiles, half self-conscious and partially coy, running her fingers through his crew cut hair, "I'll think about your proposal, corporal."

Hicks lets out a short laugh, puts his arms around her, drawing in as close as their vests allow, "You're unbelievable," and rests his forehead on her shoulder.

She hugs him tight in response and tilts her head to touch his.

116.

In the distance, from the corridor comes a tramp of rapid feet, accompanied by Lee's voice "Now where?" and the second inarticulate male answer. Hicks and Ripley turn their faces towards the control centre's entrance. He lets go of his grip on her, but Ripley does not budge sitting on his lap.

Lee shows up headlong in the doorway and misses her step upon espying the couple. The blond sci-tech bumps up against her back because of unchecked momentum and peeks inside with a frightened look, over Lee's shoulder.

Lee unfreezes at the entrance, breathing a sigh of relief. Then without particularly looking back, she grabs Galsworthy by the collar of his shirt and sends him sailing into the room, "Do your job, doc."

The sci-tech narrowly avoids hitting the chair, all but trips over Hicks' legs, "Excuse me..." and bashfully turns to the screens on his left.

Lee lands next to Hicks and Ripley and bear hugs them both; Ripley sees for the first time the tough redhead smile. Lee's interphone rings to life, she gets up, answering the call, "Rushinska."

Reluctantly and swaying, leaning against the wall, Ripley and Hicks also get to their feet.

Lee goes on, "Yes, we're in position... The Doctor says..." Lee turns to Galsworthy, "What's up, Doc?"

"I re-directed automatically detected excess voltage to the external circuit, and now..."

While Hicks listens to what the sci-tech keeps saying, Lee exhales into the phone, "The doctor doesn't say anything, but judging by his face it's all right. And, Corrigan, I found our lovebirds. Yes, they're okay." She hangs up and refers to Hicks, "Irene managed to fire up the old antenna."

Hicks smiles, "A-one," and states, "We got to chuck out everything linked to Xenos and the D7."

Ripley nods, "The Montero and the Almayer's specimens in the labs on the fourth level."

The sci-tech notes to Hicks, "To get into the laboratory you should know the code and procedure."

Three pairs of eyes stare at him, silent interrogation makes him nervous and bewildered, "I mean... I know them, we have always had full access to the scientific district."

Hicks trades glances with Ripley and the others, "Let's go."

117.

Striding down the passageway, Hicks on the go puts on the headset, hanging around the neck, "Hicks here. Corrigan, where are you?"

Against the general backdrop of exclamations of relief and approval, Corrigan's voice sounds clear in the earphones, "In the Colonial first hall, with Delaware, keeping an eye on our two unbalanced pals from D7th."

Thunders interjects, "Hun, behave yourself while I'm house-cleaning at Military's after our larger-than-life docking."

Irene's voice adds, "Hey, Kitty, don't go all the way without me. I'm already in the 'muter from the Commercial's."

Delaware sing-songs, "Step on it, sweetie, they've almost given in."

Hicks gets through the prattling, "Keep it down, folks. We re-assemble in the Military first eatery. Thunders, plant the charges on Montero, Delaware set up remote control of it, we'll blow up this goddamned boat. Corrigan, meet us at the labs of the fourth level in the sixth."

Against the echoing overlap of 'Rogers', Irene's discomfited let-out emanates, "Oh man!"

Thunders chuckles, "What, the whiz took the wrong 'muter?"

"I figure I took the fricking whole wrong station today," Irene retorts.

Delaware chimes in, "Irene-whiz, I need you."

"Got it. We'll do it quick, baby."

118.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

Outside the laboratory premises, Galsworthy fretfully swipes his card through and enters a code into the lab's access control readers, and the four – Ripley, Hicks, Lee and he – stroll in. Observant of the locale, they traverse several rooms; there is nobody here, forsaken in disorder instruments and stationery betray hasty escape, however, computers and lights are on.

They reach the terminal room with a glass partition on top, look inside. Lee scowls and the sci-tech shies off at the sight behind the wall. The floor of the adjoining room is smeared with clotted blood, two oblong black plastic bags rest on the gurneys.

Hicks walks in, others in the wake, unzips the packages. The bodies lie face down, their backbones stick out at the neck and shoulder blades area. Ripley and Hicks swiftly look at each other, she uncomfortably rubs the back of her neck.

Lee frowns and whispers to them, "Do you hear them?"

Ripley shakes her head, "Either there are no transceivers... whatever any more or they're inactive."

Corrigan's voice in the headphones diverts them, "Hicks, I'm here, let me in."

119.

Military block, sector number 5.

Flouncing with dignified grace, Delaware gains entrance into the cafeteria bar of the first level. She turns right towards a booth with an oviform table in the middle and a cushioned seating set U-shaped around it. The ends of U-looking sofa assembly face the outer station wall featuring portholes.

Thunders lounges in the centre, his back to the inner wall, under an overhang with embedded screens; to the right of him are the two still shocked sci-techs from D7, rescued by Ripley's group. Thunders and Delaware swap places, she puts her laptop on the table; beside is a pile of rifles, incinerators and detonators, speechlessly observed by the sci-techs. 

Delaware utters under her breath, almost mouths to Thunders, "Good luck," as he flashes a smile, salutes and leaves.

120.

Med/Science block, sector number 6.

Galsworthy has found a research journal and reads out selectively, "A capillary foreign object... combination of organic with inorganic tissue, capable of accumulating air-transmitted energy and radiating signals..."

Ripley listens carefully and simultaneously watches the scanning of one of the dead bodies.

"Here it is, still here," Corrigan points to the scanned image on the screen – a black hairlike stretch.

Hicks inspects the picture and queries Corrigan, "Right, how do we get it out of here?”

Corrigan moves the pointer over the picture, "Open the vertebrae of the spinal column here, here and try to extract it from the spinal cord,” he enlarges the picture, “if you can perform microsurgery. But I doubt it's detachable at all. Or else, chop out the upper part of the spine up to here, would have to saw the ribs, might be a slew of fuss..."

Ripley takes a deep breath, turning her face away and clutching at her chest as if she has a hard time to breathe. Everyone twirls to her.

Before Hicks manages to approach her, Corrigan asks, “How do you feel?”

She is pale, "I'm fine. Just not up to..." Ripley sweeps her hand widely in the direction of dead bodies.

Hicks offers, "Ellen, why don't you join the others in Military's, and we'll finish this ourselves."

While Ripley nods 'Okay', Lee bolsters up the prospect, "I'm neither of much help here. Meet you at Military's."

Hicks motions consent and, while Ripley and Lee walk out in the background, suggests to Corrigan, "We'll cremate them wholesale to hell. Two corpses without spines gonna look yet worse than their absence."

"Agreed," Corrigan works the scanner to slide open.

However, sci-tech sharply interposes, "You have no legal right to destroy these specimens, their life activity is a huge field for studying," but he notices the expressions of Hicks and Corrigan's faces and hasty adds, "thinking out loud."

Corrigan snorts ironically, "The boy made a short work of putting out of his mind enormities of the seventh sector?"

Hicks continues, "First, take my word for it, they're already dead. Second, Corrigan's right, you in the seventh have already had a chance to study the various nefarious and anomalous. And third, I'm afraid at your next unauthorized thought aloud, I'll react with no words, is that clear?"

Galsworthy wags his head in understanding.

Hicks spins back to Corrigan nodding at the dead body, "Take command."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know this one above is a production still from Aliens (1986), I just am so much fond of the image that had to write in a somewhat similar scene. The pic speaks volumes :-)


	7. CLEANUP AND CALL TO EARTH

121.

Military block, sector number 5.

Ripley and Lee walk into the cafeteria bar of the first level and veer towards the only occupied booth. Now there are even more weaponry and two laptops on the table's top.

In lieu of Delaware, Irene pores over the navigator's terminal and exclaims into the headset mic, "Bummer! I still can't see you."

Delaware's voice in the headphones is insistent, "Switch to GSS and scan again."

Ripley takes a seat on the left, opposite the two rescued sci-techs. Lee procures two bottles of water at a vending machine, gives Ripley the one and sits next to the sci-techs, both hastily moving away from Lee.

Marking this fuss, Ripley smirks to Lee, "Did they already get a lecture of yours?"

Lee grins in response, "Sorely short and intense version."

"Whoa, baby, I got something!” Irene abruptly shouts out into the earpiece and enumerates, “CF0012..."

Delaware exhales on her end of radio communication, "Yeah, duh, I am the only ship at the station,“ and sing-songs the instruction, “send the keys, on my 'three'."

Counting down being heard in the earpiece, Ripley takes a sip of water and notices that shocked sci-techs gape at her.

"You are that woman..."

Irene interrupts the sci-tech unmercifully, "Yay, I got it!"

Delaware confirms via radio, "We have contact. Now, take your agile mitts off of my machine."

"I'll take it as 'thank you'," Irene sets Delaware's laptop aside on the table.

Ripley reverts to the sci-tech's utterance, "What did you mean?"

"You are the Ripley with Nostromo and Sulaco."

“Damn, I thought I was a star of the rolling out talk show," Irene chortles at the sci-techs, moving the navigator's terminal further to Ripley and unfolding hers own.

Ripley throws a fleeting glance at the Delaware's laptop screen – there are a lot of systematically organised coordinate spheres and digital buttons, a virtual control panel for the spacecraft – and answers to the vocal sci-tech without a zest, "That's me, and what?"

He tries to suppress his trembling in vain, "Did you know that the first always appear a drone and a female? The drone is first and the female comes second."

“I didn't.” Ripley considers the shattered man for an instant and then appends in earnest, “and I don't care as of now. You shouldn't, too. The faster you purge it out of your mind the easier it will be on your psyche."

122.

Aboard the Montero.

Thunders plants the last charge, dismantles a remote detonator, pull some wires out from it.

In the headphones, Delaware's voice sounds mellifluent, "Well, Thunders, I'm on the spot."

"Great, hun. Okay, try to put on the larboard lights in the cabin." After a pause, a row of the lights at the top left switch on, and Thunders raises his head.

Delaware chants in the earpiece, "Port-side 15th circuit is completed, confirm."

"Yeah, there is illumination. Switch it all off, I'll tack on the detonator here once the larboard power is shut down," Thunders strolls to the cockpit.

As the lights turn off again, Delaware reports, “Left cabin lighting is cut. Confirm."

Thunders looks back and cackles, "Pitch dark", then shifts a few toggle switches overhead, the left side ventilation, displays and technical night-lights waning.

Delaware's voice comes through, "I confirm the port-side power is off."

“Okay, stand by, honey,” Thunders tears down the distribution board on the left wall and pulls out some wires, fusing them to the detonator.

123.

Military block, sector number 5.

Delaware is settled down beside Irene and manipulates spheres and buttons on the laptop screen, there is some signal flashing on and off.

The overwrought sci-tech continues harassing Ripley, "Five specimens were divided between two cells, and all of them were lethally dispatched after emergence, except for one drone of the second cell. It's the only that escaped, it's impossible it alone could organise the whole colony!"

Concerned and grievous, Ripley studies the man and after a beat draws out the haunting memories, with a weary sigh, "A xenomorph with a smooth head or a drone, as you call him, is able to transform living objects into the eggs, at least two. I've seen that," she bitterly chuckles, "in my past life."

Irene and Lee trade a glance and stare at Ripley while the sci-tech snipes accusingly:

"It wasn't in your reports!"

Ripley exhales noisily, "These fucking reports should've never seen the light of the day at all."

"There were about a thousand people at the sector," the man grasps at the last straw in a desperate attempt to shift his pressing self-blame to someone else.

Ripley frowns painfully and looks away espying Hicks, Corrigan and the third sci-tech Galsworthy make an appearance at the far end of the hall. But soon, as they turn aside, the trio's view is obstructed by load-bearing columns and first level area partitions.

Irene shakes her head with a barely heard whisper 'Bad day for science', as Delaware casts a worried glance up at Ripley and again lowers her eyes back to the screen. Lee's cold gaze of disapproval at the two sitting next to her speaks volumes with no need of interpreting aloud.

The sci-tech picks up haranguing Ripley, "If only you didn't keep this information from..." but gets cut off shortly–

As Hicks, followed by Corrigan and Galsworthy, storms into the canteen, "Hold it, now." An arsenal building up on the table with clanks, Hicks takes a seat at Ripley's side and cocks his head posing an implicit question to Delaware.

"He's priming the remote, we're good," co-pilot reaffirms in a low dulcet tone.

Hicks turns his gaze at Ripley, who also nods 'all right' and takes another sip of water. Installing himself in between Irene and taciturn technologist of Ripley's group, Corrigan lays a medical satchel on the table and pulls out a couple of syringes and an ampoule.

Finally, Thunders reaches out via earpiece, "Well, babe, will there be power?"

Delaware peers at the display quietly and tensely, "Let it be." A series of buttons light up on the screen, and she sighs in relief, "I confirm the power supply on the port side. Darling, get out of there or you'll miss the show."

"Hitting my way!"

The nearest to Lee sci-tech hazards the last attempt on Ripley, "Should we know more, we could hold them–"

But Lee instantly gets her hands on him, twists his arm to the back and presses the sci-tech facedown to the table. The other man starts up at the sight of scrimmage, however, Corrigan shortly seizes him, injects the contents of the first syringe and shoves the man down, tossing the second syringe across the table to Hicks. He catches it on the fly and empties into the talkative technologist's biceps. The two sci-techs sag against the cushioned lounge back and doze off.

Corrigan advises Ripley, "Don't take it personally. They are both in shock and can't understand what mad trash they're jabbering."

Ripley bobs her head repeatedly, "Yes, I know, it's all self-deception, the fixed idea."

124.

Thunders lively prances to the eating place, cursorily examines the assembly in the booth and goads Irene, "What, the doctor takes work home?"

"Lucky me without patients," Irene grouses, scrolling through troubleshooting charts in her laptop screen, then supplies right off, looking at Ripley, “but you may come whenever you want.”

Thunders draws up behind the left banquette's back and leans in to gain a better view of the navigator's monitor, “Pre-launch Okay?”

Delaware operates the Montero's virtual dashboard, "She is ready for going under weigh. And there she goes."

Ripley glimpses a picture of sharply retracted retainer grips on the monitor. Lighting up a cigarette, Hicks pushes this way past sitting Galsworthy out of the booth to mimic Thunders' posture and leans behind Ripley's back, also peering at the screen.

The half of virtual controls' image is replaced by the navigator's electronic map as Delaware comments, "Fifty streams, turning 74 yaw, stabilising. Accelerating two hundred, rotation 23."

Thunders swivels the head towards the porthole, Ripley and Hicks copy his movement. On the outside of the Gateway Station, the ship emerges from below. Speeding away, the Montero turns into a shimmering fleck likening herself to a distant star in the infinite vastness of space. Ripley stands up and shuffles closer to the porthole, Hicks is right on her heels.

Delaware alternately switches between the two panels, "Three hundred streams. No other objects in proximity. Triggering the fuse.” She calls up the overhead controls image on the screen, "Three, two, one, mark."

Behind the porthole sparkles a glowing flash that immediately fades into nothingness. Ripley lingers on at the viewport for a bit longer, eyeing untroubled and starry placidity of outer space and muttering under her breath, “Like deja vu.”

“Maybe, better that way. Come on,” Hicks nods towards the rest of the group.

On Delaware's laptop, an alert protocol of the lost signal pops up and activates the automatic search, but she simply slams the lid shut, sits back and relaxes.

Thunders proudly chuckles, "Smashing job!" and walks around the banquette, plumps next to Delaware, resting his feet on the table.

125.

Nearing the others, Ripley asks Hicks, "What'd we do now? Pay a visit to Mr Weyland in person?"

Corrigan, who has already connected an infusion set with the solution bag fixed above by his knife, gestures Ripley and Hicks to take a seat at the centre of the table, under the overhang. Irene rises from there, invariably clutching her laptop; Thunders and Delaware also clear the sofa.

"Only take account of the time difference and that we have no ride to fly to Earth," Delaware gracefully lowers on the left bench where Ripley sat before.

Galsworthy, who is not asleep like his colleagues, bumbles embarrassedly, "On the Montero, you could've just removed the transmitter." And has everyone's heads turning to stare him in the face.

Harrumphing, Irene unceremoniously installs herself between Delaware and Thunders. Standing near the central banquette and flanked by Hicks and Corrigan, Ripley with a slight groan shrugs out of her tactical vest and lets it join the arsenal on the table.

Delaware emphasises every syllable to the sci-tech, "Define 'just remove'."

Hicks sits down at the corner on the right and Ripley reclines almost full length, her head on Hicks' lap. She stretches the hand out to Corrigan and intravenous line needle goes into her vein.

Galsworthy keeps stuttering, “It was in the hull... ceiling under the coupling system... It's small, ring-shaped.” He spreads his hands about thirty cm apart, palms facing one another, and continues, "And the control panel, on the dashboard, to the right. And that's it."

“And you drew a blank for tapering the flight recorder,” Hicks offers.

“It was never on on these ships!” the sci-tech seems close to radiate blithe elation.

Thunders, smiling wryly, exchanges glances with Hicks and Delaware, who raises her brows in amusement.

Smirking holier-than-thou, Irene mocks Thunders,"Smashing job, indeed!"

Delaware sighs, "Shut up."

"Retard," Lee throws in the direction of the sci-tech, Which completely wipes out a smile off his face.

Thunders straightens up, "Listen, doc, do you know the main principles of survival? Look out and think fast." Galsworthy cringes as Thunders bypasses him, but the pilot just treads out of the booth, “I'm gonna snatch something to chew. Anyone want anything?"

126.

The overhang display comes to life, spewing out plain text in green letters onto the dark background and informing about warships docking on the first deck.

Delaware ironises, "Well, it's not even been an hour as they discovered the antenna," and keeps crunching on some snacks from a pack.

Lifting her head up a bit, Ripley refers to the pilots, "Can we take one of their ships to get to Earth?"

Irene pipes up, "Babe got a certain taste for commandeering Station boats!"

Thunders whistles, squinting his eyes, "Spacejacking a heavily armed destroyer with upper-rank officers on board would definitely make my day,” and laughs with a head shake, “but fuck that."

"No, why can't we take one of their shuttles? It lends itself for remote control, doesn't it," Ripley presses on.

Delaware rationalises, "If it's in the auto mode. Not the point. In a couple of hours, this place will be swarming with rides. Where exactly have we got to go on Earth?"

As Ripley glances upward at him, Hicks addresses Galsworthy, "Hey, Doc, how did the seventh get hold of Earth?"

The sci-tech plunges into reeling off, "Once a day, at a certain time, with Weyland's..."

"Not interested when. There ought to be identical equipment, right?" Hicks interposes.

"Yes, in the underground tier of the headquarters' building. We carried out maintenance..."

Paying no attention to following details, Hicks comments to Ripley, "Need to get rid of that, too."

The sci-tech jumps to the last suggestion, "But let me assure you it's not running bony freaks but quite peaceful harmless technology..."

While Ripley winces, Irene finishes off the sentence, "Which you used to secrete the running bony freaks until it all blew up in your face, right?"

"Yes but no..."

Ripley cuts off his objection, "You have taken this technology from the abandoned ship, right?”

"Yes, but this wave interconnection has nothing to do with supernatural... Ideas are in the air, and I know that tests are being conducted in Europe and Asia... So someday..."

"But for now, let this technology remain undiscovered until the moment comes that there is a need to use it in a peaceful direction," Ripley asserts herself.

"But it can be used for peaceful purposes!" Galsworthy is close to shrieking.

"Such as?"

"As creating spaces within limited areas, for one..."

"Well, from an economic standpoint, how much was the transmitter of the seventh sector and what area did it cover?"

"About ten million, but you could easily place there a cube with edges of two hundred metres that makes eight million cubic meters."

"Right, how much will it cost to build a hangar of the same volume in the desert on Earth?" Ripley directs her gaze up at Hicks.

Thinking out loud, Hicks casts looks at her and Thunders in turns, "Eight million CBM's. Say, fifty up for ground structure and fifty down for basement, five C and one-point-six C for the sides. We are talking about a turf the size of two destroyer dry docks. The area prep is likely to take about three to four million."

Thunders chips in, "Okay, five with infrastructure brings it up to nice round number."

Ripley questions the sci-tech, "So, what's the good of your transmitter?"

"Use it in a densely populated city," Galsworthy stirs up.

Lee intervenes, "Hey, why not? Sounds like a legit market."

Thunders chortles, "Yeah! Half a city hanging out in a mist."

Hicks points up to Lee, "Maybe, but you know how miserably thin the chance is someone's gonna expand your living quarters instead of making up some nasty stuff to drop on your head and capitalise on that."

Delaware up and queries Ripley, "Did he ask you to eliminate all connections to them when he bent down to you?" She puts the hand up in the air, palm down, to indicate the tall creature.

Ripley freezes, focusing inwardly, and falters, "No, I mean, nothing coherent I can recall..."

Hicks scrutinizes her face, "But he gave you something?"

"Not that it was anything new... I don't know," she reflects in doubt.

Thunders apes Ripley out of raillery, "I don't remember, I don't know,” and adds rather seriously, “he didn't accidentally blank your memory? About Xenomorphs, for example?"

Ripley smiles, self-reliant yet contemplative, "No, of course. Xenomorphs are where they've been. It was more like oblivion, restart, at some point I saw myself as the Derelict pilot... Must have something to do with their collective memory bank. Probably this is how they perceive the world."

Lee questions, "Do you remember Newt?"

"Sure, Newt and the cat, and all of you," Ripley raises her eyes up and whispers to Hicks, "you," then supplies out loud, "but somehow it feels different."

Irene complains, "I'd happily lose a part of today. Somebody, please, reboot me."

Thunders teases with a chuckle, "Is this how you call it now?"

Irene grabs an empty plastic bottle from the seat and swings it at Thunders, but he catches her hand on the go.

127.

Standing upright, Corrigan draws up contents of a phial into a syringe and injects it directly into the tubing of the infusion set leading down to Ripley's vein. He casually casts a glance to the right and at once snaps his fingers without moving the head or telling anything. Everyone stops nattering and looks up at Corrigan first and then where he stares: far away in the hallway, the Commodore accompanied by another soldier marches in their direction. Corrigan shambles past the snoozing sci-techs and sits next to Lee throwing his arms behind the back of the couch, the right hand on her shoulder. The team exchange knowing glances.

"A new cock of the walk on the block," Irene passes an aside and exhales rhetorically, "Mark, do you have something for a headache?"

"Licking and ticking point," Hicks quietly warns.

Bursting through the overall ineffable indignation, Commodore blusters without even reaching the booth, "What is this rookery of seals?” He draws closer and notices Hicks, “Corporal, you haven't reported to any military spaceship. Lieutenant, collect their names!"

Hicks smiles crookedly as the lieutenant chirps his “Roger”, salutes, snatches out a tablet from his messenger bag and walks around the group sitting in an open circle. Everyone removes their personal cards, often threaded alongside dog-tags with the neck chains, and passes them to the lieutenant. He swipes the cards across the tablet's side and the names register on the screen.

Staying two steps behind Corrigan and Lee's backs, the Commodore is far away from throwing in the towel yet, "I believe your merry gang wasn't present on any ship, either. Don't you think you're being really high-handed, colonial infantry? You do what you want, you flout the directives, you hang around the station like at home. Today you're all going down to Earth and rest assured, by the time of your landing I will have an order for your arrest."

The Marines hiss and look at each other with resentment while the lieutenant sprints up to the Commodore and hands over the tablet.

The senior officer wrests it out of his hands and scans through the list, "Hudson!"

Irene raises with an air of frivolous swagger and salutes mockingly, albeit unfastened but her loaded body armour still on.

The Commodore turns blue in the face at such display, "What the heck are you doing here? Get back to your assigned sector!"

"I'm happily on vacation till Monday," Irene cocks her head in defiant amusement.

He flips out into yelling, "So off and have fun in the Tourist's!"

"Affirmative," she sits down and ostentatiously plops her feet on the table.

The commodore glowers at Irene and looks back at the tablet, "Corporal Hicks, you're so full of yourself that you signed in twice?"

Ripley slurs, "Dammit," and feels her pendants through the tunic.

Hicks gives out an inconspicuous chuckle and the crew around turn their faces towards the couple and grin furtively.

The commodore blasts away, "And can you get up when the ranking officer on site is talking to you?” Finally, the Commodore trudges forwards to the passable side of the booth to take in the complete absurdity of his scene: across from him lies a woman with a drip feed in her arm, her head on Hicks' lap; on the right are two dozing men in civilian clothes.

The third civilian looks up at the Commodore and bleats frightened, "Stephan Galsworthy, Patricia Weyland's personal department…"

"What the...?" confounded, the Commodore lowers his gaze into the tablet. “There is no such department! S. U. Galsworthy. 3rd laboratory, R&D complex.” On the screen is exactly the same wording as the Commodore barked out.

Ripley fills in the pause, "Commodore, how's been the meeting with an alien spaceship?"

"You have totally lost your fucking bearings! Lieutenant, give them my order to leave the station immediately."

The lieutenant attempts to wedge a word, "But, Commodore, there are no transports at the station...”

"They happen to have pilots among them, is that right?" The Commodore inspects the tablet and shoves it back to the lieutenant, “Delaware! Thunders!"

Thunders shoots the right, gloved hand up,

Commodore expounds, "They are able to get down on their own, let them take any shuttle from the destroyers and off with them. And make no mistake, corporal, I will seek the abrogation of your special order and I will get it!" He signs up the order with the fingerprint.

The lieutenant slides a plastic card over the tablet screen and heads to round the table and pass it to Hicks.

Thunders intercepts the order card as the lieutenant just approaches him, "Thank you, pal."

The lieutenant runs back to the Commodore, the latter throws an angry farewell glance at all those seated, swirls around and the two military stride out.

128.

Thunders sends the plastic order gliding over the table to Delaware.

Hicks passes a remark, "Looks like the transport problem's been figured out by itself."

“Flying boats are up for grabs!” Thunders exclaims triumphally.

He and Delaware smoke and nod synchronously; non-smoking Irene, who has her feet on the table following Thunders' example, lounges between them, blowing on the billowing smoke puffs to both sides and peering at the monitor. One of the two sleeping sci-techs fitfully stirs to half-wakefulness.

Corrigan gets up to check the sci-tech's eye pupils and the pulse of both, then prognosticates to Hicks, "Few minutes more."

Ponderingly, Ripley queries Hicks, "What kind of special order was that officer mentioning?"

He watches the liquid level begin to creep down along the tubing and secures the set's clamp sealed, "ECA injunction 221. Colonial Marines are allowed to ignore military orders from the Earth."

Lee interrupts and recites, "In conditions dangerous to life, in an alien environment, a squad of colonial marines can act independently and at their discretion, regardless of the orders from higher-ranking military personnel not included in the colonial forces. What would you do without me, darling?"

"I'd be tattooed top to toes."

Corrigan pulls out the set's needle from Ripley's vein and perfunctorily sticks it into the empty plastic bag above; Ripley carefully sits up, clasping her left wrist and taking a brief view of the gathering.

Lee points to Hicks' upper arm, the skin blemished with acid burn scars and it is already impossible to construe the tattooed letters and numbers, "Unreliable place for cheat sheets."

Hicks shrugs and fishes out a cigarette by his left hand, trading the places on the bench with Ripley.

Thunders prompts sportively, "Hey, Rip, you wake him up some night and ask for the personal number," and chortles.

Ripley notices Delaware, Lee and Corrigan grin as well, "Why? He remembers mine."

Thunders nods, "All others' but his own."

Irene for a split second diverts from her laptop, "Thunders, dumbo, you don't have to ask for an ID for this."

"I know, I'm not a virgin," he pulls a face full of wily ulterior wisdom.

Irene casts at him a sullen oblique glance and returns to monitoring news, "Today at ten a.m. the scheduled orbital security drill took place on Gateway Station entailing complete evacuation of the station personnel... yadda yadda yadda. At about midday, for unknown reasons, there was a breakdown of receiving and transmitting primary lighthouse, which is currently destroyed beyond repair, as well as power outage affecting nearly whole Tourist sector of the station. By a lucky chance, no casualties have been reported due to the earlier fortuitous evacuation.” She snorts her disconcerted sense of justice and vents on, “Damn, that's a freaking good luck, just some miraculous Providence expelled out of a supermassive black ass hole at the far stretch of Universe."

Corrigan seconds prudently, "The Commodore's probably already trying on marshal's epaulettes."

Lee waters down the heated discourse, "That's all drivel unless there are our photos in the column 'Wanted Behind Bars'."

Hicks injects, "No photos till Lee lets her hair down," winning everyone's smiles.

Lee straightens up, "Irene, wouldn't you move with your intimate friend? A blatant waste of smoking space."

Making room for Irene on the central banquette and spotting Lee relocate to Delaware and Thunders' side, Ripley shifts aside, closely followed by Hicks, and summarises, "It would appear the military from two destroyers really don't remember a thing about the alien ship and the rest. Or they're simply covering it up."

Corrigan offers, "I don't think any of them could manage to play the part of an idiot so naturally."

Ripley reflects out loud, "Do Jockeys actually know how to manipulate memory?" and gazes at Hicks.

He winks with an ephemeral smile, "Sounds like a fact to me."

One of the sci-techs blinks repeatedly and opens his eyes.

Thunders, sitting opposite him, remarks without delay, "Good morning, sweetheart."

Corrigan examines the first awaken technologist and suggests to Ripley and Hicks, "If you're gonna try something, now is the best time." Gingerly, he shakes to awareness the second man.

Hicks motions towards the portholes, "All right, up them to the wall.”

Corrigan by allaying persuasion and Irene with the help of her vociferous charm drag the two sci-techs to the porthole wall. Hicks grabs Galsworthy but the blond man bucks frenetically for his life. Ripley flinches at first but stiffens herself shortly and leaves the booth, too.

Galsworthy panics, "Please, don't! You still need me to get to the company's transmitter and... and I can tell you a lot more about the project."

By then, Irene is at the wall with the other sci-tech under her care, "At Patricia Weyland's office you told us before?"

Hicks keeps Galsworthy in a tight grip, "We'll do without you."

The blond man implores Ripley, as a last resort, "I know the decrypt of the signal from the abandoned alien craft on Acheron, I know where else developments on wave energy are being conducted on Earth..."

Ripley clutches Hicks' upper arm, “Wait.”

"Leave him be, if anything happens, you can always brainwash him," Lee rationalises to them.

Hicks exchanges a glance with Ripley and lets go of Galsworthy.

The sci-tech squeaks in relief to Lee, "Thank you," and backs away to the table, the trio of Thunders, Delaware and Lee silently smoking and eyeing him searchingly like juries in a trial.

129.

The two drowsy sci-techs lean groggily against the wall as Ripley comes to halt right in front of them. Behind her back, Hicks nods Corrigan and Irene to sneak off and they walk away.

Disorientated and perplexed out of their grip on reality, the sci-techs murmur to Ripley, “What kind of a therapy?.. What are you, people?..”

She hushes them and points heavenwards, “Just watch.”

Straight off, up above them in the air appears a barely distinctive picture of white fleecy cumulus clouds. An instant later, the cloud bank enlarges gliding towards the onlooker. The intangible white fluff grows in size and cleaves to the sides engulfing the viewer, as if during the flight through the clouds. The movement accelerates and the image merges into white translucent tracer fire.

Both sci-techs are fascinated and motionless, freedom from strife marks their faces, no shade of anxiety or reflection of anguishing thoughts.

130.

The eye pupils of the one sci-tech constrict, he seems to have woken up from a deep sleep and quizzically looks about himself. Save the group of dressed-up military heterogeneous assemblage occupying the booth across the cafeteria, the station hall is vacant. He focuses on the couple in vicinity – Ripley and Hicks.

The second man also 'wakes up', "What happened?.."

Ripley confidently and credibly apprises the sci-techs, "There was an accident on the station. We managed to get you out of the Tourist sector at the last moment where you helped with the transfer of critically ill patients at the time of evacuation and got trapped.” She waits a tick for a response but gets no reaction, “You are employees of the medical unit."

The sci-techs awkwardly bob their heads in consent and rub their temples, looking at each other, then turn to Ripley, "Is the medical sector intact?.. We're free to go?"

Ripley and Hicks nod reassuringly. The sci-techs consider their current milieu once again and set their steps for the exit when one of them turns around with a sincere "thank you".

Hicks utters to Ripley in an undertone, “I so damn love how you bring poor bastards to their senses,” and smiles appreciatively.

She flashes a come-hither smirk, “Well, maybe you'll love even more the other things I can do.”

As Ripley and Hicks, surreptitiously smiling, join their crew back at the table, Delaware sing-songs, "I wonder how they'll cope with the memory gaps."

"They'll come up with a new reality interpretation for themselves," Corrigan states matter-of-factly.

Ripley chases away flirty mood, "What would it be?"

Corrigan sets out to lecture, "Consciousness doesn't favour blind spots. So that we rely on stereotypes, based on what you told them–"

But Thunders interrupts,"The short version, they'll live. Okay, now what, heading home?"

Hicks refers to Delaware, "How much time till it's ripe?"

She checks her interphone, "Our three p.m. is their nine-thirty in the morning. About fifty minutes of prep and flight."

Irene supplies, "They have a huddle of big shots at 11:30 a.m. with regards to the accident."

"Right, then we meet downstairs in an hour. You two, get us a ship and a flight," Hicks addresses the pilots and waves to the pile of weaponry and whatnot on the table, “now, let's clear this up.”

The group get to their feet chanting “Roger” and “Got it” in chorus.

131.

Irene and Corrigan hastily enter the docking deck, both wearing semi-formal attire: Corrigan has a waistcoat on, Irene is in a grey, red-tinged skirt suit. They approach the open southern airlock where, seated on crates and some equipment, the rest of the crew dally. Yet, the waiting four are less officially rigged out: Thunders has an oversize shirt and matching loose trousers; Delaware sports blue top and blue designer glovelettes; Lee is wearing a white stand-collar tuxedo decorated with black horizontal fasteners of oriental type and black flats; Galsworthy with his chequered tie looks rather plain.

Irene catches her breath, "And I thought we'd be the last."

Delaware lays down her phone and intones putting on theatrical airs and graces, "They'll be soon."

Lee notes to Corrigan, "You should've told them no sex before the marriage."

"...Of their adopted daughter," Delaware carries on posthaste.

"Unborn son,” Thunders chortles, “to be sure."

Corrigan regards them sceptically in turn and rubs his right cheek that the creature's hand has touched earlier, “Look at those righteous pundits talking.”

Suddenly, Irene recalls something, "By the by!" She yanks up the hem of her sheath skirt, revealing stockings bands, and jump-straddles Thunders drawling with an affected languor, "Show me love, baby."

Delaware sneers to Irene, "Are you sure that you got dressed aptly to the time of the year?"

“Every time is a good time,” Irene parries.

Level-headed, Thunders sweeps a quick glance over her empty hands, tight jacket, elastane-covered legs elongated by grey heeled pumps and takes his new communicator out of the shirt pocket. Irene whips it away, peels off of Thunders with amazed 'Wow' and spruces her skirt back down, by now all attention riveted to the piece of technology.

132.

Ripley and Hicks – also formally-garbed, however, having loosened up ties around unbuttoned collars and shirts with rolled up sleeves – approach towards the team, putting on speed.

Corrigan, sitting with his back to them, looks over the shoulder with esoteric curiosity. Irene is lolling down on a long crate between Corrigan and the rest four, cross-legged and using an encased laptop instead of a pillow. On her chest ls Thunders' communicator from which two panels are projected upwards and horizontally – a holographic screen and a keyboard. She notices the advancing pair, switches off the visual simulator and hands the phone back to Thunders. Everyone rouses standing up.

Delaware clicks her tongue to Ripley and Hicks, "There was no other time for you for one another like at my flight slot."

Hicks trades a thinly-veiled smirk with Ripley and, seeing Thunders on the verge of blurting out a warranted obscenity, commands good-humouredly to all, "Let's go."

133.

Crossing the space bridge, the group board a military spacecraft and walk along its deserted, echoing back each step, scarcely-lit metallic bowels.

Ripley notices cryo-pods and nods in their direction, "Have there been extra freezers installed?"

Hicks shakes the head, "Nah, we are on the De Barral. Had we then flown on it, it would've likely been all us,” and gestures to the rest of his squad.

Everyone seems silently dour: solemn countenances and steady gaits. Upon entering the dropship hangar they are met by the two military whom Delaware hands in the order card to. The sentinels body-search the arrived crew and one of the infantry reaches out to seize Irene's laptop.

She shies away and declares, "This is my private property."

"We're under the strict order to confiscate any technology."

Irene gives her portable computer away and inspects the others' response. Delaware impishly arches the eyebrow, Thunders wrinkles his forehead, Corrigan squints, Hicks scowls and lifts one corner of his mouth, Ripley lightly smiles and gazes on full alert.

When Lee sucks in a deep breath and lifts her chin up, Irene suddenly puts her hand on the soldier's shoulder, sliding it around his neck, and cajoles with a playful smile, "Maybe, we can strike a deal?"

In a trice of sentinel's befuddlement, Delaware snatches his firearm and puts it to his head, while Lee twists the other soldier's arm behind his back. Irene victoriously snaps up her laptop, voilà.

"Come on.” “Outstanding.” "Irene, give it fucking back." The men's voices are anything but nonchalant, yet, cheering.

Female 'dream team' let the military go, the weapon and computer change hands again.

Hicks states to the sentinels resolutely, "It never happened, all right?"

Nods given, the group comes up the ramp onto the familiar-looking shuttle, Irene's lamented "frigging dorks” heard.

Thunders lets her have the new communicator, "Five minutes."

He and Delaware occupy their pilot and navigator seats in the cockpit, don the helmet headphones on and start manipulating dashboard instrumentation.

Delaware activates air-traffic control line, "Anchorport, this is flight DS4 De Barral calling. Order HT0023. Slot lane 005/40/114."

"Takeoff 005/40/114 expires in ten minutes. DS4, confirm the departure."

In the passenger bay, Irene copies files on Thunders' communicator with the projected panels.

Corrigan surveys the dropship's interior, "All guns, tech and meds clean swept away. We must be a real triple threat."

"And how," Lee agrees.

Ripley snorts amiably and asks Galsworthy, "You said you have deciphered the message from the alien ship. What is it?"

The heads turn to her and then to the sci-tech.

Galsworthy stammers, "Yes, we... the point is you can't divide by zero."

Ripley is incredulous, "What?"

"Look, there was a sequence of repeating numbers in their message: 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Then blank, then 6, 2, 3, 6, 3, 2, 4, 2, 2. And after that went 6, blank, 5, blank, 4, blank, 3, blank, 2, blank, 1, and blank. The same sequence over and over after a pause every twelve seconds."

Lee questioningly ponders, "6, 2, 3, 6, 3, 2?"

Ripley explains helpfully, "6 divided by 2 is 3, 6 divided by 3 is 2 and so on, right?" and eyes Galsworthy.

He adds, "Yes, that's correct. Simple arithmetic but whoever might have heard that beacon should have got the insight of prohibition."

Hicks appends,"Civilisation capable of dreaming up space boats could have figured that."

Ripley frowns with pain, “They must have known this. And that's why they'd send a battered garbage unequipped for the research and analysis.”

Irene cuts through the conversation, “Okay, Thunders, I'm done."

At the double, the pilot presses some buttons on the control panel,"Got it, hang in there."

Engines' roar building up, the dropship lurches on the supporting from above couplers and moves sideways to the deck airlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truth be told, the idea of decoding the Derelict's message this way isn't mine. I picked it up on one of the thematic forums or sites dedicated to 'Alien ' films. Unfortunately, I lost the track where exactly. Thus, if you are the author, please drop me a line with the link :-)
> 
> Nevertheless, composing this story involved collecting and 'collating' a helluva materials, I guess my blog will be the better media for publishing them, so more links coming :-)


	8. PAST TO RETAIN, WAR TO FORGET

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter has, probably, the most unsettling scene, so, you know this now and are welcome to proceed at your own discretion. Seems this is my second of such warnings here, so you are also aware I'm a fiend for anything disturbing :-)

134.

From a bird's eye view, a variegated mosaic of stupendous city-scape gradually vouchsafes shades and shapes to its wee elements growing up and in size, as the military shuttle flies in to Earth. It descends to a ROOF LANDING, an aircraft-carrier-like site on the top of a high-rise building, in the centre of the city. The dropship hovers for an instant, angling in midair, and touches down next to palatial civilian helicopters.

A pair of security guards run out of the flight control tower – ROOF SUPERSTRUCTURE, housing island control for the building air traffic and access to one of Weyland-Yutani's headquarters. "What the?.." the security agents hurry up to the lowering shuttle's ramp and shout to the moving shadows inside, "you are not authorised to land here– "

"Come on, boys!" Irene steps out first into the daylight, affected wanton bearing and tone.

Puzzled yet unwound in kind, two men advance up the ramp just to see Corrigan, Thunders, Hicks, Ripley and Lee come into view behind Irene's back. In no time, Marines sail into the guards. Lightning-bolt swift trained punches and pushes – both guards limply settle down unconscious and get hauled inside. Corrigan collects handguns from the out cold wardens and gives one over to Thunders. Ripley and Marines start for their 'vengeance mission', as Irene heads back to the crew compartment where Galsworthy still wavers.

Lee turns around to snipe at him, "Doc, are you waiting for an engraved invitation?"

Startled, he catches up to the departing group. The fuselage gangway burrs up closed and the team of six dart to the entrance of the roof superstructure.

135.

An office building's elevator opens, revealing inside only four its occupants – Ripley, Hicks, Lee and the sci-tech. Ahead is seen a spacious, unfurnished, soundless hall flooded by subdued bluish lighting. There are no windows but a few doors in the walls, and not a single living soul around.

Galsworthy whispers almost reverently, "This way," and points at the nearest door on the left.

The group advance into the foyer; Ripley, Hicks and Lee looking around on the red alert. Galsworthy taps some code onto a panel to the right from the door and an electromagnetic lock clicks undone. They sneak inside discreetly: Lee and Galsworthy first cross the threshold with Ripley and Hicks following the lead. As the four enter a smaller hallway, there is an unlooked-for metallic snap of another opening door.

Ripley and Hicks come to a halt and just twirl in the direction of the noise to the right. Upon nearing the door, waiting ajar, its nameplate evinces 'Patricia Weyland, NED'. Ripley faces Hicks with a silent query, he hand-signals to Lee to divide and wend their planned way, then pushes the office-door open. Inside is only a short passage ending in a first and last door, albeit heavy-duty and stout by the look of it and accompanied by an array of displays and sensors around. Which lock also clacks released.

The interior behind the monolithic door is stunning, opulent and icy cold. A gigantesque chamber glints from glazed navy blue walls girdled on the inside with a regular pattern of round HOLLOWS the size of a ping-pong ball. There are two dark polished desks, standing opposite each other across the room, and a huge dark-brown leather armchair at the head of the farthest desk. The recliner is with its back on Ripley and Hicks and delicately but solemnly obeying to an unhearable rhythm swivels from side to side. There is someone sitting here. Someone who watches an ENORMOUS SCREEN occupying all the wall ahead.

The muted monitor shows a laboratory room full of some working equipment. There is Lee standing by the control panel, apparently confused like a fish out of water, and Galsworthy working some instrumentation with his magic touch.

In the office dimmed daylight, Ripley and Hicks slowly navigate forwards. When they come close enough, a woman's hand lands on the chair's armrest tapping the fingers inaudibly on the leather cushioned prop.

Ripley breaks the pressing quiet, "Patricia Weyland?"

The armchair spins half a turn and they see... a young girl, only five or six years older than their Newt – PATRICIA WEYLAND. Ripley's eyes fill with disbelief and, subsequently, horror.

136.

An angelically flawless face, an impeccable tan brown business suit, fair hair perfectly coiffed, a light touch of make-up – still none of this hiding her young age, Patricia stands up, leisurely and lordly like a queen. Her voice carries the same confidence and arrogance, "Whom did you expect to find here, Ripley?"

A shade of grief painting her face, Ripley silently studies the youngster.

Patricia continues, "Judging by the fact that my seventh district does not answer, it no longer exists, am I right?"

Hicks pursues his lips and coldly looks at Patricia. Ripley ignores the question, too, and stares at her pointedly, frowning in express reproach.

Patricia gestures behind her back towards the screen, displaying the live cam feed of Lee and Galsworthy in the lab, and majestically turns her head to peek there, "Another proof of that."

On the screen, Lee sharply about-faces straight off to poise herself opposite the armed men bursting into the room and levelling their weapons on her and Galsworthy. Patricia snorts disdainfully, turns her face away from the screen and misses out on an evidence of the tables turned: in a heartbeat, Lee cuffs the firearm out from one of the security guards' hands, knocks the second one down – shoving the pistol into Galsworthy's hands – and whisks behind the back of the third watchman who slowly begins to sink down to the floor; Galsworthy feverishly flails the gun among all three intruders.

Patricia, meanwhile, goes on, "But I admit I should thank you, Ripley."

“What for?” Ripley seems to having herself emulated the haughty tone and royal demeanour.

Patricia drawls, "For this," and, tilting the head forwards, activates a table screen interface and manipulates some icons.

The wall display fades out to a bluish smoky swirling and inverting pattern unfolding against the dark background. A moment later, dazzling illumination like a shot tears through from behind the bluish filter – brighter than the light in the whole large room – to unclothe a blood-freezing vista on the other side. Dim grey walls with uneven cavities and outgrowths on are in evidence, three elegant spiny shadows with long tails and oblong heads creeping up to and charging at the smoky screen.

Ripley flinches and staggers a step back but Hicks puts a supportive hand on her shoulder.

Patricia emphasises over the hissing of Aliens, "For this!" She turns her head towards the screen nearing the cooped up creatures, "They are beautiful, are not they?”

The Aliens move on the other side of their restricted abode reacting to her. Ripley closely watches this picture and trades a glance with Hicks.

"Why do you need them?" Ripley furrows her brows.

The teenager stares her down, "Do you know, we are even alike somewhat, Ripley. So persistent in chasing the dreams. So that you abandoned the husband before the birth of your daughter and then left her. All of this to prove yourself–“

"I never sent the ships to certain death," Ripley confronts staidly.

Patricia draws up at the desk, manipulates the digital buttons on its top and sneers high and mighty, "Everyone just thinks as global or small as their limits allow." She calls up some images onto the screen and slides them across the table to Ripley, “All the Haldin's interior was decorated with this."

Ripley peers down at the screen. Scanned-in yellowish time-worn sheets of paper are littered with drawings by hand of the endless egg-filled cargo hold on the Space Jockeys' spacecraft, the dead pilot in the cockpit chair, faceshuggers and monsters with elongated heads.

The girl expatiates, sauntering around the desk, "My grandfather's grandfather was keen on finding extraterrestrials but, after his death, the thin-skinned gutless family closed the project Acheron. I somehow found these drawings at my grandfather's and this became my dream. You can tell it's been genetically transferred to me. And I do not know if it's fate or good luck but without notice you appear out of nowhere, Ripley, with the coordinates of that planet." Patricia moves past the couple to the second desk, standing closer to the doorway, and feigns a dramatic sad smile, "I sincerely regret that our acquaintance will not last long."

Ripley and Hicks raise their heads, wide-awake and suspicious. Patricia animates the twin table's screen, her fingers aptly pressing a series of the icons. Instantly, the extra bluish thin screen appears between the two tables partitioning the chamber in half right in front of Patricia. Ripley casts a glance at the first screen, keeping the Aliens at bay, and it vanishes all at once.

137.

The Aliens creep out from their lair and belly up straight to Ripley and Hicks. He instinctively shields her from the creatures, the pair is adamantly focused on observing them. Suddenly the monsters bounce off aside of them as if repelled by a compression wave, pivot their heads to the second screen, hiss and immediately scoot in Patricia's direction. Her eyes widen with dread and dart alternatively between the Aliens and the duo placidly standing behind the screen.

One of the Aliens turns to front on Ripley and Hicks, straightens up on his half-bent legs, then sinks back to all fours and creeps towards them. Ripley and Hicks meet him halfway and she lays the hand on the creature's corrugated cold damp head. They are as much pets as the glutted carnivorous trained to perform tricks under a coach's whip and gunsight until the last three restraining factors are not gone.

The trio bear upon the transparent room divider. Patricia shies away from the screen in horror and markedly nervous totters to the right wall. There is revealed a hidden screen keyboard. She enters the code, opening a wall panelboard nearby, and thumps out a whimsical tune operating the controls. With a low buzzing, a row of silvery nozzles pushes out through the circular orifices encircling the inward perimeter of the chamber walls. The final key is pressed and the spouts set about regurgitating whistle and sizzing.

Patricia swirls around intent on fleeing the chamber, when all of a sudden the second blueish filter disappears and two unchecked Aliens instantly lunge towards her. She turns back just to encounter two eyeless muzzles hanging over her. The youngster trips seemingly over her own feet and collapses on the floor, yet, the creatures gracefully roll back and Hicks glances them off scurrying up onto the ceiling above Patricia's head.

The phone rings urgently. Hicks, not taking his eyes off from the monsters skyward, picks up the call and after a brief wait concludes, "Good job. Now, get out to the roof."

Alien saliva and mucus drip from above on Patricia. She tries to get the spatter out of her attire and crawls to the doorsill.

Her Alien in tow, Ripley conspicuously takes a step forwards, "Who else knows about them here?"

Patricia trembles and bursts into crying, "What are you?"

Hicks is cold, "Part of the family. Who else knows?"

"No one, just me and my friends." Patricia weeps and sniffles.

"The staff who installed the room and,” Ripley pauses emphatically, “the habitants?"

Sobbing, the teenager turns her gaze towards the den. Ripley stares in the same direction. There are pieces of authentic building materials fused together with a translucent, epoxy-like substance and among them vestiges of mummified human bones and tissue – the workmen never left the chamber.

Patricia bumbles through crying, "...insured for fifty million... let me go and you will get..."

She does not have time to elaborate. as Ripley's Alien belts along to Patricia, grabs her like an aspen leaf, wrapping his tail several times around them both, runs across the wall onto the ceiling and crawls towards the den. Two other creatures follow him and leap upwards too, flipping and landing on the ceiling, too. Stupefied from terror, Patricia merely wimps.

While Ripley and Hicks walk towards the lair dark sticky liquid begins to ooze out from the nozzles splashing right away on the floor.

Through Patricia's screams, muffed whams and crunch of breaking bones are heard. The blood flows down from her shoulder into the mouth of one of the Aliens, and he immediately squeezes out sticky goo from the inner tongue-jaw onto the wound, also daubing the ceiling around it. The slime instantly freezes and Patricia's shattered shoulder remains nailed fast to the upper surface. The same ministrations repeat to her arms and legs, while the head and trunk are left unscathed – just fixed to the ceiling owing to the secreted mucus. By the minute, Patricia is completely bound in the slimy swaddle. She groans, her complexion colouring in a bluish ghastly hue. The fingertips darken and turn rusty brown, disintegrating and formlessly swelling up; the abscess spreads up her limbs outright.

Hicks flinches but Ripley stares unperturbedly and rather off into invisible distance than at the gruesome scene in front.

Already semi-unconscious, Patricia begs, "Take me down, please, you can control them..."

"Either is it your fate or bad luck but the process is irreversible," Ripley utters mournfully.

The pressure of fluid sprouting from the nozzles increases, pungent smell of a flammable substance whiffing around. There will not be any place to stay dry in the chamber.

Hicks grabs Ripley by the shoulder, "Come on, it's gonna be torched. We gotta leave."

They share a look at each other and hurry away to the exit, turning around, as the three Aliens follow in their tracks.

138.

The elevator doors noiselessly slide open, showing Ripley and Hicks; there is a gaping hole in the elevator ceiling. The pair head out into the hallway, now and then glancing skywards, and take a turn to a well-lighted lobby. When they pass by three receptionists, the office assistants have a go at stopping the duo but Ripley stares right at their faces, and the weak-willed receptionists limp down with a blank look.

Hicks and Ripley come up to a massive door spotting a sign 'Board Conference Room', push it open and enter. One of the speakers surrounding an ellipsoidal desk falls silent, the whole board rotating their heads to face the newcomers. On large viewscreens around the room, there are various range shots of the de-energized Tourist Sector and floating debris of the destroyed commuter tunnel strut that earlier led to the Gateway new antenna.

The chairman of the board asserts himself to Ripley and Hicks, "This is a closed meeting. How did you get the clearance?" He strokes some virtual keys on the table surface, "Security..." but does not have time to continue the request as–

A forceful knock up above the ceiling sends parts of the grid frame and a few covers raining down with a crash and, through the resulting hole, three black tailed figures jump off on the table and with a hissing pivot their muzzles to everyone sitting around. People bounce away from the table to the walls. At a stroke, Ripley and Hicks escort the Aliens back to the ceiling where they stay located directly above the chairman .

A group of armed protective agents storm into the conference room to stop dead at the sight of three dangling upside down sizzling creatures.

Ripley warns the chairman, "If you try to grab us, they will rage out of control and attack. You know what they are, don't you?"

The presiding man looks up tensely while the guards aim their guns at the Aliens.

Hicks glances at the weapon, "You won't even scratch them with that.”

As the security guard lower their pistols, the chairman addresses Ripley and Hicks, "What do you want?"

"Make some corrections to the company archives and database,” Ripley offers in response.

The chair nods to one of the chiefs sitting at the table, "List your demands to the IT director."

Hicks states on the contrary, "We'll do this ourselves, just dropped by for a full access."

The chairman nods to the IT-man once again. Hicks calls on his communicator, and when Irene's voice comes through with a jaunty "Hudson here", he hands over the phone to the IT manager. Questions being answered, the Aliens crawl over the ceiling above the talking man.

Ripley notices the woman – ECA representative – with a bob hairstyle who attended her hearing after the Narcissus' salvage at Gateway Station. The rep cowedly averts her eyes to examine the ceiling and surreptitiously casts a look back at Ripley. But she keeps up her focus on the creatures, without saying a word. For any version of “Told you so” would never comprise the ordeal that its survivors have been through. 

"Where did you get them from?" the chairperson asks Ripley.

She shakes the head in distrust and ironises, "Do you really know nothing about the seventh sector?"

"Such was the agreement with Weylands apropos the sale of part of the company in 20's," the chair declares plainly.

"That was also you who sent the Almayer to LV-426," Ripley argues.

"This was the decision of ECA –"

"Who are 80% Weyland-Yutani officials?" she smiles bitterly.

The board chief waffles looking again at the ceiling, "What you are going to do with them next?"

The IT director gives Hicks back the phone. He and Ripley come close to one another primed for leaving, the board carefully observing them and Aliens overhead.

Hard as nails, Hicks admonishes the chairman, "No horse-trading."

The creatures dive back into the opening in the ceiling, Ripley and Hicks departing towards the door. Officials are still tense and silent.

139.

Standing alone at the foot of the table opposite the corporate assembly, Hicks wraps up the 'account', "For unidentified reasons, there's been a surge in the antenna complex which caused its destruction and consequent network overload in the western region of the station Tourist district. Automatic control of the reactor operation has now been introduced. Recovery efforts may be engaged any time."

Sitting at the conference table, members of the board listen to him attentively.

Hicks points to the fallen ceiling cover on the desk, "And it looks some repairs here won't hurt, too."

People's eyes flit between the wreckage below and ceiling as if they see the havoc scene for the first time.

The chair sighs and grumbles, "Today's not your day but a continuous disaster. Thank you, Corporal. You are dismissed."

Hicks walks out into the hall where Ripley awaits him heedfully sizing up the ceiling. He puts the hand around her shoulder and they start for the elevators. The first one already has a sign 'On repair' and is out of commission, so they approach the second cabin.

140.

Through the elevator opening doors, Hicks peeks out into the anteroom of the roof superstructure and steps half-way out. The tower control and protective personnel are moth-taped and secured in the chairs around the adjacent foyer room offering egress to the roof. Hicks leaves the elevator, closely followed by three Aliens, and the last comes out Ripley. Crossing the foyer room, she motions to Hicks and stays, while he leads the monsters out.

Removed across the roof landing, there are Irene and Corrigan waiting near the military shuttle, the gangway lowered. The monsters in a flash sense the people afar, squatting and hissing in their direction. Irene seems to reel back to the dropship but Hicks ushers the Aliens to the opposite side of the roof a considerable distance from the island superstructure and gestures “Go ahead” to the pair.

Irene and Corrigan run up to the elevator tower where she connects Thunders' phone with the islands external control panel through the cable and unfolds the virtual keypad.

Ripley hustles out of the roof facility, looking around, and noticing the com-tech and med-tech nearby, “Okay, we're done here. How are you doing?”

Corrigan chuckles in good faith, “Never better! You sure about that?” He waves the hand towards Hicks and his “company”.

Ripley nods with certainty, “Just wait for us up there.”

Hollow thuds of the locking door mechanisms are heard. Irene jerks out the cord and together with Corrigan they sprint to the shuttle. In a short while, the dropship lifts off into the air, yaws for some course and flies away.

Ripley and Hicks guide the creatures to the open space, themselves splitting up in different directions; one of the Aliens keeps close to Ripley, the other two stay by Hicks . Suddenly, Hicks' tandem sharply attacks Ripley's lone Alien, the latter jumps at them in return. Expressions of Hicks and Ripley's faces are concentrated and belligerent; they involuntarily copy the body movements of their respective “suits”. Ripley takes a step forward and shrugs her shoulder.

Hicks' creatures are first to injure her monster, slamming his head and chest in. The acid melts the roof. The wounded Alien creaks and hisses, readies up, aggresses one more time and gets a number of punches and stabs; his limbs are fractured, the chest and head lethally crushed. The yellow liquid spreads over his dark body and entrails, a fading hissing and screeching, and he freezes for good.

The winning pair comes to a standstill. Ripley and Hicks trade a look and the Aliens separate to tear into one another a moment later, clinching and dealing blows with tails and toothy jaws. They retreat, hissing, and one of the monsters leaps high up to strike the second atop, but the other creature manages to curl up into a ring, hiding his head under the chest, so that the first impales himself on the pointed tail and sharp dorsal crest.

From the breaches in the Alien's ribcage drips acid, he subsides on the hands and knees and screeches. However, the first uninjured monster comes to halt in front of him. Ripley moves her head with a hint of menace, and the wounded creature ferociously counterstrikes the safe-and-sound one, piercing the chest and smooth front of the head dome with his tail in one motion. They both creak in unison.

For some time, the two Aliens trash and gut each other spewing caustic acid and unintelligible vitriol of hissing until they finally drop in their tracks. Tarmac roof pavement corrodes under a mess of two carcasses. Ripley and Hicks gingerly converge, keeping their eyes down, and approaching a horrible sizzling acidic puddle.

The metallic carapace of the first murdered Alien cracks in cobweb-like fashion, scales off and crumbled into coarse-grained metal dust, ulnar and caudal spines and claws decomposing the first.

141.

A macabre tableau of mouldering Alien remains and eroding roof coating of the top of Weyland-Yutani's edifice zooms out and speeds off, clouds covering the Earth surface. An eyeful of Gateway Station against the background of distant Earth is a refreshing solace by contrast with the recent scenes, a multitude of spaceships flying to and fro around the station. On the other side, Gateway is overseeing a panorama of clean starry black space.

Against the background of the star field, there is an increasing image of floating Alien, curled up in the fetal position, legs tucked to the chest, the head bent to the knees, the arched back with the tubes, the tail between the legs and over the shoulder.

He starts to unfold and scarcely reflected lights from his protruding body parts line up laterally in ten marks across the perspective: one stroke for the tail, two for the elongated heel spines, two for the elbow spikes, four owing to the spinal tubes, one for the neck crest and two for the domed head. The smooth and shiny surface of Alien's head gets blemished with cracks, the skin on the shoulders flakes and the lattice inserts on the arms, legs and tubes burst; the yellowish acid drops spurt out and wing away dissipating; the creature every inch dissolves in vacuum.

Only the visual traces for ten vertically arranged reflections of the Alien body protrusions turn into letters: ALIENNAIRE.

142.

In a poorly lit cramped room, Newt huddles in a shabby old armchair at a greasy, piled up with gadgets and tools desk, Ripley and Hicks standing behind her.

On the other side of the table, a middle-aged man of a malapert and loose type vaunts at length, "The finest plastic you'd ever hit upon, the most top-notch whipped up cards. No one'll ever smell a rat! Firm-wired first-rate, with personal chips and all your dope– "

"Can we just have them and leave?" Newt stretches out her hand, non-smiling and no-nonsense.

In the back, Ripley and Hicks look at each other and smirk. Newt is wearing a violet fringed blouse and dark jeans, both thin wrists are cuffed in chunky blue and violet bracelets; black sneakers and a black textile bag over her shoulder come in striking juxtaposition to her loose blond hair; massive dragonfly-eye-shaped sunglasses cover a half of her face.

Hicks answers his phone, "All right... yeah, we're getting out soon."

The plastic dealer assures Newt, "Yes, sure, small fry," and hands her an envelope.

She silently takes it and jumps off the chair, heading for the exit.

Ripley brushes her kiss on Newt's forehead, "They will meet you outside."

Hicks ruffles the girl's hair at the top of her head and Newt leaves the room.

In a long dark corridor, another middle-aged man in oily clothes happens to walk down towards her, "Hello, kiddo!"

"So long..."

"And you're funny!"

"Hardly..."

The man comes into a crowded room.

143.

Outside, the blinding sun parches a nearly barren sandy expanse of land sundered by a dark strip of a highway and animated due to a roadside service premises. Irene and Mark meet Newt right at the doorway, as she comes out.

Irene greets the little girl, "Hey there! You must be Newt?"

The girl raises her glasses to her forehead and stares at Irene, wordless and attentive.

The woman looks around in a dramatic manner and then jokingly asks, "I'm what, have grown a second head?"

"You look very much like him," Newt does not smile.

The smile evaporates from Irene's face and after a pause she offers, "Care to get in the car?"

"I'll probably wait for my kin here," Newt shrugs and motions at the door that she just appeared from.

Irene nods and places the hand on Corrigan's shoulder, "I'll take the wheel." She leaves in the direction of a silvery van with tinted windows.

Corrigan points at the envelope in Newt's hands, "Will you show it?"

"We haven't seen them ourselves yet," Newt lowers the shades back on her face.

Confident and almost relaxed, Ripley and Hicks step out of the scruffy building.

Corrigan turns his gaze to the couple, "You fine?"

They nod and all four move towards the minivan. Passing by a black topless SUV parked next to the building, Hicks takes a melancholy look at it.

Ripley gives him a side hug, "Let's go. We'll get a new one."

They approach the car. Corrigan takes the front seat next to Irene and Hicks opens the side door – Newt, Ripley and he getting into the back. Inside, the familiar teenager with red-dyed hair lounges, his back to the driver's cabin and a computer on his lap.

Mark explains to the trio, "This is Dylan", and tells Dylan the names of Ripley, Hicks and Newt who occupy the place opposite him.

Hicks shakes Dylan's hand, "Regards to the com hotshot."

Ripley nods her greeting but Newt just considers him through the sunglasses.

The greyish minivan starts off and pulls out into the main road from the provincial lonely compound, the sign reading 'Urgent car repair shop and gas station'.

144.

Newt takes three translucent plastic cards out of the envelope, imprinted names are Rebecca Hudson, Ellen Hudson and Dwayne Hudson. She doles out the corresponding cards to Ripley and Hicks and closely examines her own.

Hicks reads aloud, "Colonisation planning and development. Irene, are you kidding?"

But she is serious, "Somebody has to look after them. In case, I'm a network nerd but at the heart of their outfit this time, we'll see each other now and again."

As Hicks hands over their new plastic documents to Corrigan, Ripley leans towards him and utters in low voice, "What was his first name, again?"

"William," he whispers.

Ripley nods thoughtfully and eyes Hicks, he glints back at her and bows the head in approval. They may have a use for the baby boy name soon.

Corrigan considers their new ID cards, "Well done, Irene."

She gestures “no problem”, looking at the road ahead and keeping her cool. Looks like the heart-rending recognition of everything happened in the past three days only now caught up with her.

Hicks broaches the imminent group concern, "Right, what'd we got for the big news?"

"Yeah, check the first two pages there," Corrigan responds eagerly and commands to Dylan, "give them the toy."

Ripley, who is sitting in the middle between Newt – near the window and staring out at the prairie scenery – and Hicks, takes Dylan's computer and rotates it screen-side to herself. Immediately, a signal photo of the angelic face with fair, neatly styled hair and innocent blue eyes arrests Ripley/s attention. Eyes widening. Ripley exchanges a glance with Hicks but he just presses his lips with a slight frown. What happened down there stays down there. Newt pays a brief attention to the picture on the screen and incurious turns bask to the window: the meagre greenery is far more enjoyable.

Ripley reads out in fragments, " Non-executive director  Patricia Philippa Weyland... seventeen... went missing. Six months ago... came into the inheritance of ten percent of Weyland-Yutani, the Webber Dexter Weyland's share... Lineal descendant of one of the two dynasty founders of the powerful corporation... If anyone has information on..."

While Hicks and Ripley again share sideways tight-lipped glances, Corrigan gives them a perspicacious once-over but Irene narrows her eyes, tightly clenching the steering wheel and glaring only at the thoroughfare.

Clicking on the next news, Ripley notes a picture of the company's chairman of the board and chooses excerpts, "Announcement from Weyland-Yutani Chairman Mr. Marcus Edmondson... in connection with the accident... to number and immediately compensate the families of deceased victims... 1368 of station personnel... a complete list of names in the file... eleven soldiers of the first Colonial Marine unit." Ripley opens the document below the news to find there a short register, "Cheleska Rushinska, wife of Private Wierzbowski... Samuel Spunkmeyer, son of Private Spunkmeyer and Corporal Ferro... Irene Hudson, sister of Private Hudson, Dwayne Hudson, brother... Rebecca Hudson, daughter... Jones Hudson, son." Taken by surprise, Ripley raises her glance at Irene.

The com-tech peeks at Ripley's reflection at the windshield rearview mirror, "I'm sorry, Ellen, your story has finished yet with the Nostromo.”

"It's okay. I think the cat will be happy to share with me. Thank you, Irene."

Irene shrugs sadly and waves towards Hicks, “Thank him. I'm just an extra nerdy pair of hands.”

Corrigan watches her, "Want me to drive, baby geek?"

Irene nods and supplies, "What's more, we should've your nephew tagged on, too. He's got 'Hudson' written all over him."

Lastly, Newt takes off her shades and stares at Dylan appraisingly. Ripley with an appreciative 'Thanks' hands him the laptop back.

The van pulls over to the side. Corrigan gets off and goes around in front of the car while Irene clambers onto the front passenger seat.

Hicks proposes, "Sis, maybe you get in the rear and I ride gunshot?"

She shakes her head and to utters to Dylan, pointing at the laptop, "Hide this stuff, so that next twenty-four hours I won't see it anywhere around you. Some hours of radio silence may do us good.”

Corrigan gets in behind the wheel and the car starts to move.

145.

Still driving, Corrigan talks on the phone, "Yes, we should reach you in an hour or so... Well, if you need my 'go-ahead' then go. Thunders, personally I'm all for it but you gotta ask them, too, when they're awake... I'll be in touch."

Outside, the greyish blue dawn highlights a distant point ahead, where the tapering sinuous road meets the level horizon. Inside the van, Corrigan takes a fondly glance at Irene in the passenger seat next to him. She is deeply asleep, undisturbed countenance and relaxed pose, tucked up in a patchy comforter. Corrigan looks in the rearview mirror, taking in the part of the back cabin, and shakes his head with a chortle, "The Hudsons family."

Seats re-arranged, now there is a 'couchette compartment' at the van's stern: Dylan and Newt are slumbering on three-seat makeshift bunks facing each other. Between them, there is a folding table attached to the wall, two phones resting in the cupholders.

Another row of seats in the middle of the cabin fronts the windshield. Hicks is in a sound sleep even sitting up, his head propped on the seat's back, the lips parted. Ripley's head on his lap, she is lying covered with a blanket up to her waist, a snug red top on display. She faces the direction of the van movement, her features are softened and pacified. The left hand touches Hicks' knee, his right hand hugs her over the left shoulder, below the neck but above the chest.

The lonely silverish van races away at full throttle down the highway, as the gory-tangerine sunset paints the sky, marvellously vivid yet implicitly alarming .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am closing the book on this writing, in a manner of speaking, with a mixed feeling. Memories of, admiration for and anguish because of these films and their Universe have spanned a good length of my life. On the one hand, I am happy that I can breathe freer having tidied up the mess in my mind in regards to my favourite characters. But on the other side, it feels sad as though I am bidding farewell to them.
> 
> Sometimes I think this story is unjustifiably naïve, the other times it dawns on me that the basic things in life shouldn't be too complicated to grasp. Such as trust, friendship, love.


End file.
